


Deep into the woods

by PaxterHobber



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awkward First Times, Derek Hale Needs a Hug, Feral Derek Hale, First Time, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:33:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23510881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxterHobber/pseuds/PaxterHobber
Summary: Running away from his abusive foster home, Stiles tries to find shelter in a burned-down house in the woods. He does not expect to meet half-feral Derek, not to mention actually fall in love with him. Will the two broken souls be able to help each other?
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 372
Kudos: 1408
Collections: Sterek Goodness





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To distract me from the stories I'm stuck on, I decided to do something a little bit different. Please don't take this story too seriously, it is supposed to be a little silly:)

The trek through the woods has drained Stiles of all little energy he had. It took him way too long to get here and now he’s shaking, both from exhaustion and the chilly autumn evening wind.

He’s made it, though. The old house, a black, foreboding shape looming in the dusk, is larger—and more dilapidated—than he thought it would be. It’s perfect. Secluded and abandoned, it should provide a good enough shelter for the harsh winter to come.

Provided he’s got to it first, though, he thinks and his skin prickles as he squints his eyes into the darkness around him. The feeling of being watched has been getting stronger the deeper into the woods he got.

He’s being paranoid. There’s no one here; no trash, no empty bottles or fire pits to indicate another squatter has taken claim to this place.

Still, the unease doesn’t go away, as he climbs the steps up to the scorched porch. There’s been a fire, that much is clear, and Stiles is surprised the place is even still standing up.

There’s no front door and Stiles carefully tiptoes inside, listening to the creaking of the floorboards, hoping it won’t collapse right under him.

The strong arm that wraps around his middle from behind comes as a complete surprise, as focused on the floor as he is. He flails, trying to kick or land a punch, but whoever is behind him is fucking strong, his form big and solid against Stiles’ bony one, and his arms effectively trap him in vice-like grip.

Panic pulls him under and thrashes against the hold. It’s useless, of course, and he exhausts himself embarrassingly fast.

“Oh, god, please,” he pants when he feels breath on the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I’ll go and never come back, please, let me go.”

He’s turned around so fast his vision swims and finds himself face to face with a man with dark messy hair, a scruffy beard and thick eyebrows. His jaw is clenched and his nostrils flared and there’s something dark and wild in his greenish eyes that makes Stiles’ heart sink.

He's going to be raped, his mind supplies with a painful clarity. Raped and then killed, his body buried in these woods where no one will find it. Not that anyone’s ever going to look for it, and damn, does the thought sting.

“Please,” he rasps out again, but there’s no sign the man even hears him or understands him. Instead, to Stiles’ mortification, he buries his nose to the crook of Stiles’ neck and inhales loudly. Stiles lets out a squeak of surprise and tries to jerk back, but the man just snakes a hand under his shirt and pulls him even closer.

The smell of sweat, pine cones and mud fills Stiles’ nostril as he tries to stay still, so as not to aggravate the guy even more.

After a long time, he finally pulls away, letting out a guttural sound that almost sounds like a growl. With one hand he grabs both of Stiles’ skinny wrists and leads him inside the house without a single word.

“Wait, man, hold on,” Stiles sputters. It is now clear that he sure as hell isn’t going to be able to fight this freakishly strong pile of pure muscle, he might as well try talking to him. “Seriously, I didn’t know this place was taken. I heard some kids talking about it, so I thought—I’ll fuck off right away if you want me to. You can even take my bag. I’ve got some stuff—Hey!”

The man doesn’t spare him a glance as he drags him through the surprisingly empty house. It doesn’t look that lived in and Stiles wonder if the guy’s new here, too. That’s just his luck, really.

All thoughts leave his mind as he’s pushed to one of the rooms and sees a nest of blankets on the floor in the corner. He digs his heels in but he might as well be a ragdoll with the way the larger man manhandles him easily.

He rips Stiles’ backpack from him and flings it to the far corner without care. Next, he roughly relieves Stiles of his thread-bare and, admittedly, stained and smelly jacket, ripping the poor thing in the process, and throws it once again across the room.

Stiles can’t help but start struggling again, hopeless pleas falling form his lips on their own volition. The man doesn’t even acknowledge his feeble attempts, though. His breathing is hard and his movement jerky and feverish.

Just when Stiles is bracing to have the rest of his clothes ripped off, the man effortlessly pulls him down and onto the pile of dirty blankets that smell weirdly of wet dog. Stiles curls into a ball, expecting to be assaulted, but the man just spoons Stiles from behind, throwing an arm and a leg over him, immobilizing him, and then once again, buries his face in Stiles’ neck.

Stiles clenches his eyes shut and waits but nothing happens. It takes a long time for the realization to pierce through the fog of panic in Stiles’ head. There are no hands in his pants, no one is hurting him. He’s lying on the floor, with a creepy stranger _cuddling_ him.

After what feels like an eternity, his breath slowly starts to return to normal. Stiles locks all his muscles so as not to fidget as time drags on and still nothing is happening.

“So, um…” he tries when he can’t the tension anymore.

A low growl resonates near his ear and Stiles snaps his mouth shut. Right. That seems to be man’s preferred way of communication.

Eventually, his body gives up, the exhaustion being too much, and he relaxes in increments. Fuck, but the man behind him is so beautifully warm. Stiles can’t even remember when he last wasn’t feeling like he’s freezing his balls off.

Maybe he’ll survive this after all. He just needs to wait for his moment, stay awake and then… he doesn’t even finish the thought before he falls asleep.

He wakes up in what feels like the middle of the night, his heart going into overdrive as soon as he feels the body behind him. He struggles to stay completely limp and keep his breathing even as he listens to the sound of the stranger behind him and evaluates the situation.

He's asleep, it seems, and even rolled away a little, even though his arm is still heavy against Stiles’ chest. Biting his lip, Stiles starts to inch away excruciatingly slowly. It takes him forever but he does it, he wriggles from underneath the arm without waking the man up, judging from his still deep breathing.

Stiles hesitates in the darkness. His bag and jacket are all the way across the room. He has a pepper spray tucked in one of the hidden pockets of his bag and he’s tempted to try and get it. In the end though, he decides with a heavy heart that it’s not worth the risk of waking the guy up and just starts to slowly tiptoe out of the room.

Glancing one last time at the sleeping man, he’s surprised how young and peaceful he looks now that he doesn’t look like he’s going to maul Stiles at any moment. He’s even pretty, with his strong jawline and full lips.

Once he’s out of the house, his starts to sprint in the direction he came from. Luckily, it’s a bright night, the full moon illuminating his way even through the trees, otherwise he’d probably trip on the nearest root and break his neck.

He stops only when he feels like his heart is going to burst and his lungs are burning somewhat terribly. Leaning against a tree, he waits for the stabbing in his side to subside. His panting breaths sounds incredibly loud in the forest and he starts to think he maybe should have been a bit stealthier.

When he strains his ears, though, he doesn’t hear anyone coming after him and so he carefully peels himself from the tree and takes a few steps in the direction he hopes the town is.

“Holy fucking hell!” he curses, stumbling back and landing on his ass. There’s a monstrous black wolf just a few feet in front of him, watching him with amber eyes, its hackles raised.

“Good doggie,” Stiles tries as he scoots back in fear and the beast bares its fangs. “Oh my god, please don’t eat me, I’m more bones than meat, anyway.”

The next moment, the creature takes a step back and Stiles can only gape as it warps smoothly into a man and yep, that’s the murderous stranger from the burnt house. Butt naked, Stiles can not notice, a bubble of hysterical laughter forming in his chest.

“What—What the—” he tries to string together a sentence but gives up. The dark-haired man doesn’t look in the mood to talk anyway, as he wordlessly grabs Stiles and throws him over his shoulder, heading back towards the house in long strides.

Once inside, Stiles is unceremoniously thrown back onto the blankets. The man slips back into his dirty pair of jeans. Thank fuck, too, because that was getting pretty distracting. Once redressed, the man starts to pace the room agitatedly.

“You’re a shapeshifter!” Stiles barks out a laugh, finally getting his mouth to work again. “That’s so fricking amazing!”

The man doesn’t spare him a glance or pause his pacing but Stiles barrels on.

“Can you do other animals? Or just the wolf? Not that it wasn’t impressive. It totally was. Wait, are you a werewolf?”

Stiles’ mind is reeling, the excitement with a good dose of fear making him dizzy. It is still the most thrilling thing that has happened in his miserable existence. Maybe the last one, too, considering he probably just became someone who ‘knows too much’.

“Are you going to eat me?” he asks because he’s never been a one to shy from the hard questions. Finally, the man stops his pacing and stares at him with a look of puzzled bewilderment. It is the first human reaction Stiles got from him, or even an acknowledgement that he understands him, and he takes that as a win.

“Right, maybe not eat. But are you going to kill me?” Stiles pushes, hiding his shaking hands under his knees. He’d probably miss the minuscule shake of the man’s head if he wasn’t watching him intently but it sends a wave of relief through his body so intense his fingertips start to tingle.

“Oh, cool. Good to know,” he breathes out. “So do you have a name?”

Unsurprisingly, the man doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t go back to pacing either, and keeps scowling at him.

“I’m Stiles, by the way. And I’m gonna have to call you something. What about Remus? Too obvious? Are you even a Harry Potter fan? What about Fangface? Wolfie?”

“Derek.”

His voice is rough like a sandpaper, as if he hasn’t spoken for years. And maybe he hasn’t, Stiles thinks, as the man looks taken aback by the sound of his own voice.

“Derek,” Stiles repeats, grinning.

Suddenly, Derek looks weirdly exhausted. He takes off his pants but before Stiles can even start to worry, he turns in to the black beast of a wolf again. He curls protectively around Stiles, his thick fur surprisingly soft and warm. Distantly, Stiles realizes he should be freaking out, but the truth is, he feels safer than he has in the past half a year of living on the streets. He snuggles closer to soak up the warmth and falls back asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance to any foster parents, I know that's not true!

Stiles wakes up to the tickling of fur on his face. The wolf is still curled around Stiles, his head resting on Stiles’ chest, trapping him. He’s not asleep anymore, either, watching Stiles sleepily.

Stiles stays still, waiting for the beast to maybe get bored and get up but he seems perfectly content lying where he is. It feels like nothing happens for hours, the shadows moving across the blackened room. Finally Stiles’ patience runs out and he starts to wriggle, trying to free himself from beneath the wolf. This only earns him a warning growl and Stiles sighs.

“Right. Okay. Hey, Derek? Remember how yesterday we established you’re not going to kill me? I’m kinda starving over here.”

It’s the truth, too. He usually gets by on a single meal per day, but trudging through the forest yesterday and then falling asleep with an empty stomach has left him shaking with fatigue, his whole body feeling like jelly and stomach turning on itself with nausea.

This at least gets the wolf to get up and Stiles finally takes in a proper breath now that he’s not being squashed by an overgrown puppy. The next moment, it’s Derek the man again, crouching next to him, his brows furrowed.

“Do you have anything to eat? You know, _food?_ ” Stiles overenunciates as if he’s speaking to a child, gesturing to his mouth.

“Food,” Derek repeats quietly, as if he’s testing he can still speak, and then nods and leaves the room, not bothering to put any clothes on.

Stiles sags, hugging his knees to stave off the chilly morning air now that his source of heat has gone. He wonders what Derek lives off here. With no shops to pickpocket at and no fastfoods with half-eaten burgers, Stiles is starting to realize this indeed might not be the best place for a clueless homeless kid. But at least he’d be alone. No shop owners cursing him and kicking him out, no drunk teens spitting at him, no other hobos fighting for the best street corner.

At least he’d thought he’d be alone, that is. He didn’t exactly count on meeting a grumpy shapeshifter.

Derek’s back and Stiles looks up hopefully but immediately his stomach sinks when instead of food, Derek’s carrying a coarse-looking rope. Wordlessly, he takes both Stiles’ hands and leads him to one of the protruding pipes.

“Seriously?” Stiles protests, indignant. “Do I look like I could run away from a wolf? Where the hell do you think I’d go?”

Derek doesn’t falter, or even acknowledge him, only threads the rope around the pipe. When he reaches for his wrists, Stiles jerks away.

“At least let me take a piss first!” Stiles snaps, half angry, half terrified at the prospect of having to sit hours in his own piss.

Derek winces and, to Stiles’ surprise, has the decency to look guilty as he nods and jerks his head towards the door. Stiles quickly hobbles past him, using the wall for support. For a moment, he’s worried Derek will go with him to watch him because Stiles doesn’t think he’d be able to get his shy bladder to perform, as much as he needs to go.

Derek stays inside, though, and Stiles takes a lungful of the cold air, stretching his limbs. It is sort of tempting to make a run for it, Stiles’ not going to lie. How far would he make it, a hundred yards? Would the wolf snap his neck this time, despite Derek’s lacklustre assurance?

Reluctantly, he drags himself back to the room, where Derek is still waiting with the rope in his hands. He takes his time tying Stiles’ wrists and Stiles is weirdly touched by the fact he checks the rope is not cutting off his circulation at least three times.

As soon as he gets up, clearly satisfied with his work, panic surges through Stiles.

“Will you be long?”

The words tumble out and Stiles curses himself for how small he sounds. But the idea of being tied up and alone here, in the middle of the woods, is suddenly beyond terrifying. What if someone else comes here? What if something happens to Derek and he doesn’t come back? What if he decides not to come back?

But the guy’s out of the door without a glance back and Stiles groans in frustration. He gives the rope a testing tug, but it’s immediately clear he’s not going anywhere. Wiggling a little, he tries to find a comfortable position and braces for hours of waiting.

Where did he go, anyway? Doesn’t he have at least some food in the house? Wistfully, Stiles thinks of the last two protein bars in his bag, still lying across the room. He wanted to save those for a rainy day because if he’s learnt anything from his six months of homelessness, it can always get _worse._

Maybe he went to town to buy something. It’s a good two-hour walk for Stiles but in his wolf form, Derek could probably make it in half that. That’s still gives him at least two hours to spend worrying and watching the cracks in the walls.

The sounds from outside seem to get louder and more ominous the longer Stiles waits in the silence with nothing but his too-fast breathing resonating in the room. There are weird creaking noises and at one point, Stiles is convinced there’s someone in the house with him and almost has a full-blown panic attack but manages to pull back at the last moment. It's just the old house creaking in the wind, he repeats like a mantra and then jerks violently when there’s a loud _thud_ in front of the house.

A moment later, Derek steps back into his room and Stiles lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Derek, that was fast!” While it did feel like an eternity, objectively Stiles thinks it couldn’t have been more than 30 minutes. “Did you get anything to—oh my god.”

There’s a dead hare hanging limply from Derek’s hand.

“That’s—not exactly what I had in mind. I mean, I usually go for cereals or something for breakfast.”

Derek looks at the dead animal in his hand, looking so utterly lost and confused, Stiles feels like he just kicked a puppy.

“But’s it’s fine,” he backpedals quickly. “Really. That’s great. Thank you. I haven’t head real meat in ages. Will you let me out now?”

Obviously relieved, Derek quickly unties the rope and then offers the hare to Stiles, who takes it gingerly by the ears.

“Alright. Let’s cook this thing,” he grins.

Derek follows him around, watching curiously, as Stiles gather twigs and logs, and arranges stones to build a fire pit. Next he uses fork-shaped branches to create a makeshift grill.

“Not bad, huh? I knew my one year in boy scouts will come in handy one day,” he looks over his work, satisfied. “Now we need to skin it and gut it. Do you maybe have a knife or—Yep, that’ll work,” Stiles yelps as Derek sprouts razor sharp claws on one hand and removes the hare’s pelt from the meat below as if he was cutting through butter.

He leaves him to it and retrieves a lighter from his discarded backpack. It takes him three tries but he finally gets the fire going and then puts the hare on. His destroyed jacket is still inside and so he sits as close to the fire as he can, rubbing his ice-cold fingers.

Derek, on the other hand, finds a place as far from the fire pit as he can, pressing his back against the house.

“Not a fan of fire, huh,” Stiles mutters, casting a look once again at the burned remains of the house. What the hell happened here?

As soon as the hare’s cooked, Stiles snuffs out the fire with dirt, as much as he would love to continue basking in its warmth, and brings the food to Derek.

“Oh god,” Stiles moans when he takes the first bite. Sure, it could use some seasoning, but it’s warm and it’s meat and it feels like the most delicious thing he’s eaten since he’s ended on the street.

“So,” he mumbles around a mouthful. “How old are you? You look kinda young. Twenty? Twenty five? Wait, or are you like hundreds of years old and just look young? No, that was vampires, right?”

Derek rolls his eyes and Stiles grins victoriously. He’s gonna annoy him into talking after all, just watch him.

“I’m seventeen by the way. I should still be in the system, you know? But fuck that. I’m not letting them put me in another foster home. They’re all greedy bastards. They just take money from the state and then let you starve. Might as well starve on the streets and be free, amiright?”

“Right,” Derek echoes feebly, looking a sort of horrified. That’s a second word just this morning. They’re making progress.

“Are there any more people like you?” Stiles asks and Derek shakes his head frowning.

“No, like you have always been the only one or no, like there aren’t anymore?” Stiles says softly and Derek clenches his jaw and looks away.

With no reply forthcoming, Stiles pushes on. “Was this your home? Or did you just find this place?”

Suddenly, Derek gets up and Stiles flinches, afraid he angered the man with his questioning. He just effortlessly slips out of his clothes and the next moment he turns into the black wolf again. 

Stiles huffs a laugh. “Yeah, that’s one way to end a conversation.”

He doesn’t run off, though, as Stiles half-expected, but scoots closer and lays his large head in Stiles' lap. Almost automatically, Stiles starts to gently pet the top of his head while he finishes his food, lost deep in thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how are you guys holding up in these worrying times? For the past three weeks we've all been home and it's been all sorts of challenging. My 4yo gets bored, my 2yo is throwing tantrums, my husband is trying to work and I'm just like, go take the kids, I need to WRITE!:)


	3. Chapter 3

With his stomach finally full, Stiles feels his eyelids grow heavy. He’s exhausted and it’s so peaceful here; no never-ceasing honking of cars or wailing of sirens, no drunk shouting or laughter. Sleeping on the streets has always been nerve-wracking. In the months he’s learned to sleep with one eye open, jerking up awake every ten minutes, too afraid to let down his guards and become vulnerable to anyone who might want to kick him out or steal his backpack.

But here, with nothing but woods for miles and a huge scary wolf in his lap, he feels weirdly safe and he’s out before he knows it, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He wakes up when the sun is already low, casting long shadows across the clearing. Annoyingly, his stomach is already gurgling again, and he’s all stiff and cold from sleeping on the ground.

Derek is still curled by his side in his wolf form and Stiles smiles sleepily.

“Still not in the mood to talk?” Stiles asks and the wolf huffs. He does get up, though, and shifts back.

“What?” he barks and Stiles grins.

“Nothing. Just. I’m thirsty. And kinda hungry again.”

Derek hesitates and Stiles quickly raises his hands placatingly. “Please don’t tie me up again! It’s fine. Just, you know—do you really live off of only rabbits? Mice, or squirrels or whatever else it is you catch?”

“I could bring you a deer,” Derek mumbles and Stiles laughs.

“Oh my god, you talk!”

This earns him a glare and a roll of his eyes. “Come,” Derek orders and heads off. Stiles hurries to follow, hugging himself against the cold.

“How are you not cold? I’m freezing over here! It’s a supernatural thing, right? Is that what you wear all year long? Jeans and t-shirt? And seriously, you _had_ to rip my only jacket to shreds? I—ouch!”

Derek stops so abruptly, Stiles bumps into him from behind. He then storms off into the house without a word and Stiles is left outside, wondering if he should go after him.

Before he can make up his mind, though, Derek’s back and he throws something black and heavy at him.

“Oh,” Stiles says dumbly, and quickly slips into the black leather jacket. It’s too big on him, almost swallowing him, but is nice and sturdy and _warm._ “Thanks.”

There’s something dark and heated in the way Derek looks at him, and Stiles’ stomach flips with nervousness. Suddenly, the memory of Derek’s rough hands on him just a day ago surfaces with renewed clarity and he swallows around the lump in his throat. He let himself be lulled into false safety, hasn’t he? Stupid! Only because Derek hasn’t hurt him yet, doesn’t mean he’s not going to.

Derek flinches, his expression turning sour and Stiles wonders how much of his fear showed up on his face. Without another word, Derek just turns around, walking into the woods, leaving Stiles no option but to follow.

They reach the small stream bubbling softly in just a few minutes and Stiles sinks on his knees, gratefully taking large gulps of the cold water, not really sparing a thought to the cleanliness of it. He’s sure he’s had worse, when he lapped water from the tap in filthy abandoned toilets near the highway, whenever the thirst got too much to bear.

Derek waits patiently for Stiles to drink his fill and when he finally gets up, his stomach is sloshing with every step.

Instead of heading back to the house, though, Derek sets off in a different direction, walking surely through the forest, clearly familiar every tree and bush. Stiles, on the other hand, stumbles over every root and stone as he struggles to keep up.

“So where are we going?” he asks because walking in silence is not really his thing. “You’re not just leading me deep into the woods to kill me right?” he half-jokes when all he gets from Derek is sullen silence.

“I told you I’m not going to kill you,” Derek grumbles.

“Right, yeah. But then—why… what do you want with me?” Stiles presses, his heart once again beating in anticipation. Save for the part of being tied up to a pipe, he actually likes it here. He’s more rested than he’s been in years and it’s like some of the tension he’s been carrying ever since he ran from his foster father is slowly starting to uncoil. It’s easy to feel safe so far from other people. He just hopes he’s not wrong about Derek. Being homeless gets pretty lonely and he could really use a friend right now. And if he happened to have supernatural strength, all the better.

“I—I don’t know!” Derek huffs in frustration. “It’s—you smell nice and the wolf—I just. I can’t—”

“Okay,” Stiles simply, seeing how agitated Derek is getting. “It’s okay.”

Derek looks at Stiles for a long time, his expression unreadable, before he finally gives a small nod and walks on.

The rest of the walk passes in silence with Stiles trotting after Derek, soon sweaty and panting. There are so many questions burning on his tongue but from the set of Derek’s shoulder and his clenched jaw, Stiles senses he’s not going to get another word from him.

Finally, when he’s about to sacrifice his dignity and ask the werewolf to slow down, they step out of the woods. Stiles looks around, confused, until Derek jerks his chin to a row of community gardens down the hill.

“Oh! Good thinking!” Stiles lights up and runs the rest of the way, forgetting about his sore muscles. Derek leads him around to the faraway side and lifts up a lose part of the fence to let Stiles in.

“Not your first time stealing someone’s veggies, huh?”

Derek snorts and pushes Stiles inside.

“Go on, then.”

Stiles doesn’t have to told twice. The garden is clearly well taken care of, no weed to be seen, the patches perfectly marked and geometrically aligned. Stiles goes for the apple tree first though, the small red apples as juicy and sweet as he dreamed they would.

He fills his pockets with as many apples as he can fit. He then takes off his hoodie and ties the sleeves to create a makeshift bag and fills it with carrots, tomatoes and potatoes he digs ups, getting himself even dirtier in the process. Derek, on the other hand, just stands there, arms crossed and head slightly tilted.

“Are you keeping guard?” Stiles asks curiously and Derek nods.

“That’s so cool! Do you have supernatural hearing? How far can you hear? Like miles? Or is it just that you hear a different frequency? Or would you smell if anyone was coming? Do you know dogs’ sense of smell is about 40 times better than humans’?”

“Do you ever shut up?” Derek asks, exasperated, but it lacks any heat.

“Nah, not really,” Stiles grins. The truth is though, he hasn’t talked this much months. There were days when he didn’t utter a single word and eventually, he started talking to himself, just to prove he still can. And then people were looking at him not just like he’s a dirty hobo but a _crazy_ dirty hobo and so he stopped again. Not talking, though, felt like losing some essential part of himself.

He fills up his bag undisturbed and they slowly make their way back. Stiles entertains himself by telling Derek the plot of an old paperback novel he managed to fish out of a garbage can after seeing a guy throw it out. It’s the only book he’s read since running away and he knows it by heart; he even memorized the page numbers of his favorite passages that he rereads over and over on long boring nights under the highway overpass.

The evening passes pleasantly. Stiles manages to bake the potatoes in hot ambers, only burning them a little, and he stuffs himself full until he can barely breathe.

It’s only after the moon comes out that everything goes to hell.

Derek, who hasn’t left his side all evening, always at least one hand on Stiles, gets up and starts to pace, his mouth drawn tight and eyes wide and feverish.

“Are you okay, there?” Stiles asks, worried. He glances up the sky, noting how round the moon is. “Is the full moon? Is that a problem?”

Derek only growls, low and deep in his chest. His eyes flash bright gold, his fangs long and sharp in his mouth.

“Alright,” Stiles says carefully, even as his heart is hammering in his chest and his hands start to shake. Suddenly being alone with Derek in the middle of the woods on a night of the full moon doesn’t feel all that safe. Clearly the werewolf is struggling to retain control, snarling and growling as he paces.

“Should I go inside?” Stiles asks, his voice shaky despite his effort the remain calm. Or at least appear calm. In his mind he frantically tries to remember what to do when you encounter an angry predator. Play dead? Wave a stick and shout? Fuck, does any of that apply to a werewolf?

Derek gives a terse nod and Stiles starts to slowly retreat towards the house. As soon as he turns his back to Derek, his anxiety multiplies by a hundred. Then there is a rustling sound somewhere from behind him and Stiles _loses it._ He breaks into a sprint even as warning bells sound in his head. Bad idea. Bad fucking idea.

He doesn’t make it more than few steps before he’s pinned to the forest ground so hard his breath is knocked out of him. Derek is on top of him, crushing him, his clawed hand digging into his shoulders.

He’s flipped around roughly and Derek’s face, distorted and with huge fangs, so close he feels his breath on his neck, is the last thing he sees before clenching his eyes shut in terror.

“Derek, please don’t…” he pleads weakly and to his surprise, Derek freezes. After a stunned moment, the weight from his chest disappears. Instinctively, Stiles curls into a ball, wrapping his arms protectively around his neck, but the sound of Derek’s footsteps quickly fading away tells him he’s gone.

Still, it takes him a long time to dare open his eyes and sit up and blink into the surrounding darkness. What the hell happened?

He’s okay, though. He’s fine, he assures himself as he gets up and dusts of the dirt from his knees. Derek didn’t hurt him.

For one fleeting moment, Stiles considers making a run for it. He doesn’t _want_ to, though, despite everything. There’s nothing waiting for him but loneliness, hunger and cold.

Trying not to think too hard whether he’s making a huge mistake, he quickly returns to house and buries himself under Derek’s blankets.

It’s barely dawn when he hears steps draw nearer and he presses closer into the corner. He must have drowsed off for a while but he’s still completely exhausted and drained.

Derek walks surely to where Stiles is curled up and stops a safe distance away.

“Leave,” he says quietly, not looking at him. Stiles struggles to get his numb body to cooperate so that he can sit up straighter, even as fear turns his stomach into ice.

“What? But—Derek, can we talk about it?”

“I said go!” Derek roars, pointing to the door. “Get out of here!”

Tears spring into Stiles’ eyes and he gets up on shaky feet. “Can—Can I at least have my backpack?”

Derek takes the discarded item in the corner of the room and flings it at Stiles so hard he stumbles.

“And don’t ever come back here again,” he grits out as Stiles slinks past him and out of the room.

Barely seeing where’s going over his tears, he sets off in the direction of the town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter everyone!
> 
> btw, I can't really promise you a posting schedule as my life is pretty hectic. But you know, I managed three chapters in a week, that's not bad. I usually try at least a chapter a week but sometimes there might be two weeks between chapters so don't be alarmed:)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst... so much angst :)

Stiles doesn’t really remember how he made it through the woods but he stumbled to a gas station at the outskirts just as the town was waking up. It has to be early still, not even a morning rush yet, judging by the sporadic traffic on the highway.

He wants nothing more than to just collapse there but the warning look the cashier gives him from behind the window makes him trudge on. His legs are shaking and his mind is thankfully numb and empty by the time he makes it downtown.

He’s fucking hungry again. There’s one last apple in his pocket and he devours it, core and all, while trying not to think about Derek. Stupid, fucking Derek who caught him a fucking rabbit and then kicked him out just like that.

Without really thinking, he finds himself on his favorite bench in front of a McDonalds. It gives him a good view of the tables outside. He knows who to look for; families with children who order way too much food and leave most of it untouched. Also, they barely ever clean up after them, which is when Stiles runs in and grabs as much food as he can before he’s kicked out by a grumpy employee.

It's still early, though, and there are just a few students grabbing a quick bite and an old guy with a cup of coffee sleeping in the corner. He’s probably homeless, too, by the looks of him, but at least he’s got enough money to buy himself a cup, Stiles thinks miserably. He wishes he was brave enough to beg but being underage, and looking every bit the part, that’s just asking for trouble.

No, he’ll just have to hold on for 6 more months. Then he’ll be 18 and he’ll be able to at least get a job and find a place to live. If he survives that long, that is.

At last lunch time comes around and Stiles perks up, his heart beating nervously. He’s done this hundreds of times and still hates it just as much, the shame never really going away. And he hopes it never will.

Several families come and go but they all either take their leftovers with them or throw them straight into the trash. Stiles groans in frustration at the sight of an almost full box of chicken nuggets flying into the bin, his stomach cramping painfully.

After what feels like hours of waiting, he finally spots his target. Distracted parents with two rowdy kids and two full plates of food. They don’t stay long and once they leave, with all their trash still on the table, Stiles doesn’t hesitate.

“Mommy!” he hears just as he starts to look through the wrappers, his hands shaking. “The man is stealing our toys!”

Stiles flinches and sure enough, the toys from the kids’ happy meals are lying there, forgotten. He takes them and offers them to the kids with an apologetic smile.

“Get away from my children,” the woman screeches and Stiles immediately drops the toys, taking a few startled steps back. “Honey, go get the manager,” she instructs her husband. “This is disgusting, fucking hobos!”

Stiles doesn’t wait for the manager to show up. He turns and runs away empty handed, later cursing himself for not at least grabbing one of the burgers.

He stops only when his legs give out under him and he collapses on the ground in one of the empty side alleys. There’s no one chasing after him, of course, and it takes him a long time before his breath finally slows down.

He knows he should go back and try again but he just can’t make himself. Tears of frustration well in his eyes. It’s well into the afternoon and he hasn’t had a single bite to eat and he’s walked at least 10 miles. His feet are throbbing in his old, thin-soled shoes and all his muscles are aching beyond exhaustion.

It takes all his willpower not to curl behind a dumpster and forget to world. He can do this. He has to. And he’s done okay for himself for the past six months, hasn’t he? Well, maybe not _okay_ but he survived. And as shitty as it was, the thought of going back to his foster family still filled him with dread and made him realize that things could always be _worse_.

Running on fumes, all his mental energy spent on putting one foot in front of the other, he makes it to the supermarket and plops down on the bench. Immediately, his eyes start to droop and he berates himself internally. He needs to focus!

The parking plot is busy, people bustling in and out, loading their groceries in their cars, doing million things at the same time. It’s usually quite easy to find a distracted shopper and an unattended cart. All he has to do is walk by and grab a thing or two while they’re not looking.

He's stopped feeling guilty about stealing a long time ago. These people with huge cars and clean clothes and fancy mobile phones, they won’t notice if a chocolate bar or a loaf of bread go missing from their bags. And if they do…yeah, well, they can cry about it in their warm beds under the roof of their house.

Suddenly, his heart skips a beat when he notices two unattended bags overflowing with groceries propped against one of the column. Looking around, it’s not hard to find their owner – and old lady, leaning heavily on a cane, all of her attention currently on an ATM machine few yards away.

Oh god, how easy would that be to just grab them and make a run for it. He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. His blood is pounding in his ears with adrenaline as he leisurely walks to the bags and then he just… freezes.

He can’t. The moment has passed and he sags in defeat. He can’t do it. Stealing a thing or two is different than taking someone’s week-worth of groceries. He already hates himself a good deal and he does not need to add _this_ to the list of reason.

“Can I help you with those?” he asks instead, resigned, as the old lady makes it back to the bags in slow painful movement.

She looks him up and down and Stiles’ stomach sinks, his cheek burning with shame. He knows what he looks like. What he _smells_ like.

“That would be most kind,” she smiles and Stiles blinks in surprise. That’s not the answer he was expecting but he quickly grabs the bags and walks with her slowly to her car, while she talks about her grandson who usually buys her groceries but has broken his leg yesterday.

He loads the bags into the trunk and is about to leave when she stops him with a gentle hand on his arm.

“For your help,” she smiles as she hands him a bill. Stiles’ eyes grow wide when he sees the 50 dollar note and he takes a step back.

“No, I couldn’t…”

“I insist, really. And just between us, there’s a shelter just a few blocks away, do you know about it? My friend’s daughter is a volunteer there. Please promise you’ll check it out? The nights are getting colder.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stiles nods numbly, even though he knows there’s no way in hell he’s going to a shelter. They’d take one look at him and call the CPS. And he hasn’t gone this far just to be taken back.

She leaves with one last sad smile and Stiles clutches the bill in his trembling hands, his mind already making a list of things to buy, sorting them by priority.

First things first, though. He buys a kebab from a vendor at the corner and devours it right there, barely tasting what he’s eating. He’s sorely tempted to buy a can of soda too but he knows that’s not something he can afford to waste money on. He’ll find a public drinking fountain later.

Next he heads to a thrift store and spends a good hour going through the pile of clothes until he finds the cheapest, warmest clothes that fit him – or won’t fall off him, at least – including a solid pair of mittens and a hat.

Disdainfully he counts the leftover money. He’s down to twenty and there are still things there’s no going around.

Exhaustion hits him in full force now that he’s eaten but he still drags himself to the familiar truck stop. He’s used the showers there many times before; they’re cheap and relatively clean with sturdy doors and locks. He can only afford to buy 15 minutes and he scrubs himself furiously, not really taking the time to appreciate the warm water.

His old clothes crumpled to a ball and stuffed in a bag, he heads to a nearby laundromat. He dozes off while the machines finish the cycles, curled protectively around his backpack, jerking awake everytime the doorbell chimes.

Afterward he goes straight to the library. It’s surreal when he enters and no one shoots a dirty look or gives him a wide berth. Showered and in clean clothes, he blends in with all the other young students and for once, being invisible is the most exhilarating feeling.

He finds a free computer in the corner, tapping his fingers nervously while it boots. A family house like that burning down, there’s got to be some news article about that. How long ago was it though? Stiles doesn’t dare to judge from the state of the house – could be a year or fifty years for all he knows.

He tries searching the first things that comes to his mind and is surprised when he finds what he’s looking for right away. It’s a short article from the online version of a local newspaper dated four years back and Stiles quickly skims the text.

A fire of unknown origin has trapped the whole Hale family inside, all 8 people dead, including children as young as two, the article says. Then there is a list of victims and Stiles’ heart stutters painfully when he sees _Derek (16)_ on the list.

His heart beating, he reads it again, questions whirling in his head, but the dry, matter-of-fact article does not go into any details. Going through the rest of the search results doesn’t help either, as all other mentions and articles basically repeat the same information.

How is that possible? Didn’t they count the bodies? How did Derek get on the list?

What does it matter, though. He’ll never see Derek again. What’s it to Stiles if he wants to live the rest of his life as a wolf in the ruins of his home. _Fuck that guy_.

As much he wants to believe the sentiment, he can’t summon any hatred for him. Just sorrow and hurt. Losing a whole family just like that, being the only one left, Stiles’ heart hurts in sympathy. He knows something about that.

He wastes the rest of the afternoon in the warmth of the library until it closes and then walks around malls and museums until they close too and all that’s left is places that definitely won’t let in a 17 year-old.

Eventually there’s nothing else to do than head to the awning he’s slept under for the past months. It’s a good awning, too, on a quiet street and with a vent that lets out hot air from time to time.

He’s ready to pass out when he finally gets there and his stomach drops when he sees a sleeping back and cardboards in his spot. _Fuck_. He’s been gone for two days and someone has already taken his spot?

Even though the owner is nowhere to be seen, Stiles is not feeling brave or strong enough for a confrontation and so he turns around to find another place to spend the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're dong okay! Austria is doing quite okay, we have under 100 cases a day and they're starting to open some shops. Let's hope it will only get better!


	5. Chapter 5

He heads to the underpass. He knows he shouldn’t but he has no idea where else to go and is too exhausted to make it anywhere else, anyway. He curls around his backpack behind the concrete column, hopefully out of sight of anyone who might come prowling here, and passes out rather than falls asleep.

Just how deep asleep he was becomes obvious when he doesn’t wake up when two guys approach. He jerks awake only when a hard kick lands on his ribcage.

“Is he dead?” a voice slurs and Stiles sits up, disoriented and gritty-eyed, and tries to scramble away only to hit the wall behind him.

“Nah,” the other voice answers and Stiles finally gets a better look at them – two young guys, one clearly swaying on his feet, while the other is watching Stiles with a calculating expression.

“I have nothing, leave me alone!” Stiles snaps but it sounds pretty pathetic, his teeth chattering with cold and stress. The twenty dollars tucked in his sock suddenly feel very heavy.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” the guy shrugs, seemingly casual, nodding towards the backpack that Stiles is clutching like a lifeline.

“There’s… nothing valuable, just old clothes and—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, give me the backpack,” he barks, clearly impatient.

“And the jacket. That’s some nice leather,” the other one hiccups.

“Okay, okay, fine,” Stiles placates, shifting slightly to get his feet under him. “Just—oh fuck, what is that?”

As soon as they instinctively turn around to where he’s pointing, Stiles bolts, praying this trick will work. He’s only ever seen it movies but to be fair, the actors were usually much more agile than exhausted, starved Stiles.

Just like the night before, he’s on the ground, dirt in his mouth, before he can take more than a few steps. He barely feels the first kick, shock and adrenaline making him numb, and he curls into a ball, desperately trying to protect his head while still keeping a hold on the backpack strap.

Everything blurs in one fiery agony when the next kick to his ribs is accompanied by a loud crack. He almost wishes he passed out but he’s all too aware of the kicks continuing to rain all over his body.

Until suddenly, everything stops. He dares to take a peek through his fingers and his stomach does a complicated thing at the sight of Derek standing above the two jerks splayed on the ground. He doesn’t much time to process it because they guys scramble up and run off, while Derek just glares at them.

“My—my bag!” Stiles gasps out and for a moment, he’s terrified Derek will let them get away with it. After a beat of hesitation, though, he turns around and chases after them.

Slowly he manages to sit up a little, each movement sending a jolt of agony from his ribs, and the effort leaves him panting and sweaty.

Derek’s back before Stiles even manages to get his breath under control. He hands him the backpack carefully, taking a step back and watching Stiles with a worried expression but Stiles pays him no mind. With shaking hands, he fumbles inside the bag and then sags in relief when his fingers find the cold metal.

It's all still there. His father’s badge, as well as the envelope with a few of his pictures that he managed to salvage.

Now that the backpack is back safely in his arms, fear is replaced by a simmering anger.

“What the fuck is your problem!” he yells at Derek, who has the audacity to look slightly hurt at the outburst.

“What the hell do you want? First you tie me to a fucking pipe and then you kick me out. And now you’re following me around?” he continues to shout even as Derek seems to shrink into himself. “Make up your fucking mind!”

Hot tears of frustration blur his vision and he wipes at them angrily. Derek doesn’t answer, just sits down next to him and scowls into the night for a long time while Stiles pulls himself together, waiting for the tears to stop.

“I didn’t—” he starts haltingly. “I don’t want you hurt. I never—”

“Okay,” Stiles sighs, resignedly, before Derek hurts himself. He’s way too tired to try to explain to him that if he’s worried about Stiles’ safety with _him_ , sending him back to the life on streets is not that great an alternative. It’s all too much and if he could just pass out now, that’d be perfect.

“We can’t stay here,” he says just as Stiles starts to doze off and tugs at his arm gently.

“Fuck off,” he grunts and it comes off more as a whine. “There is no way I could make it all the way to your place. Fuck, I think my rib is busted. Just—leave me be.”

Derek hovers over him, uncertain, and in a moment of panic, Stiles wants to grab his foot and beg him not to leave him here alone.

He doesn’t leave, though. Instead he scoops him up as if he weighs nothing and Stiles gasps in pain as even the gentle movement jostles his side.

For a moment he’s terrified Derek’s just going to carry him to the house but he only brings him back behind column.

“Wait, wait—” Stiles grits before Derek can leave. “Here,” he fishes the twenty dollar bill from his sock and holds it out to Derek, who doesn’t take it, taking a tiny step back, and Stiles’ cheeks burn in shame. “Sorry. Just—there’s a 24/7 pharmacy a few blocks away. Could you get me some painkillers? The cheapest, off-brand ones. Please?”

The pain is making it hard for Stiles to breathe and if he remembers correctly from the first-aid lessons they had in school, there’s not much else he can do for a broken rib than dope himself up on painkillers.

Derek doesn’t make a move to take the money and Stiles lets the outstretched hand fall down as despair overwhelms him and new tears burn in his eyes.

“Derek…” he pleads and Derek jerks from his frozen indecision. Instead of taking the money, though, he squeezes himself next to Stiles behind the column and gently lifts him up and guides him to curl up on his lap. Once he’s as comfortable as he can get, Derek slides a hand under his T-shirt.

“What the hell are you doing? This is no time for cuddles, I need—oh.”

Stiles takes in his first full breath as the pain suddenly fades away and a warm tingly feeling spreads from Derek’s hand.

“What—What’d you do?” he slurs, suddenly feeling lightheaded and floaty, his eyelids impossibly heavy and his head lolls against Derek’s shoulder. “Imma… doze off for a while.”

“I’ll keep watch,” is the last thing Stiles hears before he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, he’s in the exact same position but the sun is high in the sky and Stiles wonders how long he’s been asleep. Derek, Stiles sees when he finally manages to get his eyes to focus, is up and alert, watching Stiles a hint of worry on his face.

“Sorry,” he says when Stiles sits up a little, grunting. His rib is throbbing slightly, but it’s nowhere near the agony of last night. “I think I overdid it a little yesterday.”

“Overdid…what?”

“The pain drain. I haven’t done it in years and I think I went a little overboard.”

“Oh. That’s pretty awesome though. Saves on painkillers, huh? Seriously, though. Thank you.”

Derek ducks his head and there’s a hint of a shy smile and goes straight to Stiles’ heart, making him feel all fuzzy. The next moment, though, it’s gone and Derek gently pushes him to the cold ground, getting up himself to stretch his legs.

“What now?” Derek asks, uncertain, and Stiles takes stock of his aching body.

“Gimme a moment. I just have to eat something and then I’m good to go.”

With heavy heart, he takes out his last two crumbled energy bars from the bottom of his bag and offers one to Derek, who shakes his head.

“I’ll bring us some food.”

“You’re not going to bring me a rat, are you? Also, probably best if you don’t turn into a wolf here, you don’t want someone to call the animal control on you.”

Derek just snorts and gets up. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

He’s gone before Stiles even remembers to give him the money. God, he really is planning to hunt something, isn’t he? How else—

Derek’s back sooner than Stiles anticipated, carrying a white plastic bag with two take-away boxes and plastic forks.

“What—where did you…” Stiles gapes at him and Derek shrugs.

“Made up a story about a lost wallet and needing money for the train.”

“Seriously?” Stiles shakes his incredulously, trying to picture Derek charming some old lady with his lies. Why didn’t he think of that before? Only, he did think of it, just never found the nerve to actually try it.

Gratefully he digs into the greasy, cheap Asian noodles and they eat in silence. As hungry as he is, his stomach starts to protest half-way through his portion, and he carefully wraps the bag to save the rest for later.

“Alright. Can we go?”

“Go... where?” Derek asks carefully and Stiles’ cheeks once again flush bright red even as icy fear settles in his stomach. He can’t do this. He’ll be dead by the end of the week if Derek leaves him here, injured and alone.

“I thought—I assumed… Why did you come here, then?”

“I was worried,” Derek admits softly. “Do you _want_ to go with me?”

“Yes,” Stiles breathes out in relief.

“You’ll have to leave for the next full moon. Just for the one night.”

“Okay,” Stiles agrees easily. One night a month on the street, that’s doable. And probably preferable to being near-mauled by an out-of-control werewolf.

“Okay,” Derek nods solemnly and helps Stiles up.

It’s a slow going into the woods and to the house, even with Derek supporting most of Stiles’ weight and draining some of his pain half-way there when Stiles thinks he can’t take another step.

When they finally make it though, something unwinds in Stiles as he curls back under the blankets. As weird as it is, it’s almost like coming home. Or the closest to home he’s had in a long time. The tension in Derek’s shoulders seems to fade too, and as soon as they’re inside the house, he shrugs off his clothes and slips into his wolf’s form.

Stiles welcomes the added heat as he lies down next to him and he buries his face into the soft fur before falling into an exhausted sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We got a huge a translation project, which is welcome as there hasn't been a single job in the past three or four weeks. But it also means less time for writing so sorry in advance!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heads up for some mild smut

Stiles sleeps for what feels like days. Derek even brings him water and food and drains his pain, which makes him hazy and sleepy.

His ribs are nowhere near healed when he starts to get restless, though. Now that they’ve had ‘a talk’ with Derek, Stiles wants to start working on the house.

Painfully he drags himself from his nest of blanket and starts to clear up one of the rooms that has been damaged by the fire the least. Derek shoes him away with an annoyed grunt and clears all the clutter himself while Stiles directs him from where he’s resting on the floor.

They then bring in anything salvageable from other rooms; only a slightly scorched mattress, some more blankets and pillows, a table, even a fancy chess set, even though Derek stubbornly refuses to play it with Stiles.

They move Derek’s blankets too and make it their new den. For the next few days, Derek practically sits on Stiles to make him rest despite his protests that he’s fine and that his rib feels much better. It was probably just cracked anyway.

Rested and full of restless energy, Stiles takes advantage of the last few warm days of the autumn and digs a hole in the ground for cooking and builds a tripod for a pot he found in what used to be the kitchen.

“I wish we had some chickens,” he says in the evening as he stirs the mushrooms they found with stolen potatoes above fire, testing his new cooking setup. “This could really use some eggs. We could get a goat, too. For milk. I mean, I prefer cow’s milk but a cow might be a bit too much, don’t you think?”

Derek doesn’t answer but Stiles mostly stopped expecting him too. At least he is sitting much closer to the fire than the last time, so Stiles takes that as progress.

“At least we could plant some veggies. I feel kinda bad for that guy’s garden. There’s not going to be much left soon at this rate. Is it too late to plant something? I have no idea.”

Stiles’ head is swimming with the possibilities. They could probably clear up the fireplace and chimney and get some heat going for the winter. Too bad the water doesn’t work. The stream isn’t far and has clean water, but is way too cold for bathing. For Stiles, anyway; Derek did splash in it yesterday, seemingly unbothered by its frigid water, and that’s just another unfair disadvantage of his freaking werewolf body. Stiles’ll probably have to make a trip to the truckstop showers, sooner rather than later.

After they finish their dinner, they just sit outside, enjoying the cooling evening. It’s beautiful and peaceful here and Stiles hates to ruin it but he knows he’s going to explode if he keeps all the questions that keep whirling in his head to himself any longer.

“You’re Derek Hale, right?” he says quietly and Derek goes rigid next him

“How do you know that?” Derek growls.

“I read about it on the internet,” Stiles shrugs. “Did you know everyone thinks you’re dead?”

“Stiles,” Derek half-warns, half-pleads but Stiles doesn’t let that deter him.

“Yeah, I’m guessing you do know. So why are you hiding up here?”

Derek flinches and Stiles realizes all too late just how accusing that sounded.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—Just, what happened?”

Derek doesn’t answer just clenches his jaw so hard Stiles can almost hear his teeth grind. He starts to get up but Stiles stops him with a hand on his arm.

“The fire was no accident, was it? What happened? Do you really want to stay here forever?”

Derek has no problem shaking Stiles off and the next moment he turns into a black wolf and runs off. Stiles grunts in frustration and resists the urge to the throw something after him.

“This is fucking cheating!” he at least shouts into the darkness, knowing Derek will hear him all too well.

At the same time, he gets it. Derek doesn’t want to talk about it and Stiles should just let it go. He has a feeling, though, that if Derek doesn’t talk to him, he won’t talk to anyone. Like, ever. And as much as Stiles is enjoying the respite from the stress of the streets and the roof above his head, he does _not_ want to stay here forever. Once he’s eighteen, he’s gonna make a life for himself. Secretly, he guesses he hoped Derek would be a part of it.

It's late and Stiles retreats to their new ‘bedroom’. Without Derek it does not feel anywhere as safe and cozy and Stiles tosses for hours staring at the blackened ceiling.

Some time in the night he must have fallen asleep, because he’s woken up from his uneasy slumber by the scratching sound of claws on the floor. Stiles automatically scoots over to make room and the next moment, the mattress dips under the wolf’s weight.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles mutters as he cuddles closer and finally falls deep asleep.

The next day Derek doesn’t change back. He follows him listlessly around all day, only runs off in the afternoon, coming back with another rabbit hanging from his muzzle.

Stiles is getting better at skinning and butchering the animal himself but when he offers half of it to Derek, he doesn’t eat, only nudges it back to Stiles.

“You’ve already eaten? Snacked on a few mice, fur and all?” he jokes, but it falls flat. Derek curls next to his side like a heap of misery while Stiles eats, forcing the food down into his uneasy stomach.

It starts to rain in the evening and Stiles is grateful to be able to hide and huddle together for warmth. Stiles reads his book to him out loud until it’s too dark to see and then he just tells the rest from memory until they both fall asleep.

The next day goes pretty much the same, with Derek not being any more eager to change back, or even eat for that matter, and on the third day, Stiles cracks.

“Derek?” Stiles says carefully, crouching next to the wolf. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about anything. But will you turn back? Please? I’m getting kinda worried here.”

There’s a moment of hesitation and Stiles starts to fear Derek’s going to refuse but then the next moment he turns and Stiles lets out a breath of relief.

“Thank you,” Stiles breathes out.

“Sorry,” he mumbles but Stiles can’t find it in him to be really pissed at him, seeing him huddled, miserable and naked on the floor.

Stiles slips under their pile of blankets and gestures for Derek to follow. He does, grateful, and snuggles close. Cuddles are the best consolation Stiles can offer to the werewolf, anyway, seeing how starved for touch he is. Wolves are not meant to live alone, are they?

They stay like that for a long time until a sense of sleepy peacefulness settles over them.

“What is it like?” Stiles asks finally, and Derek turns to him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Being a wolf, I mean.”

“It’s… simpler,” Derek answers after a beat, turning to watch the ceiling. “Clearer. Not so many emotions. There was a time when I stayed wolf for months at a time but… I think I realized I might not ever come back if I stayed much longer. It was hard. I didn’t—,” he swallows and looks back at Stiles. “I didn’t have anyone to stay human for,” he finishes softly and Stiles’ throat constricts, his heart skipping painfully.

He doesn’t even know who starts it, but the next moment they’re kissing, hesitant and clumsy at first. Stiles’ head is swimming and _fuck_ , this is probably a bad idea, what the hell is he doing, but then Derek softly rubs Stiles’ dick straining in his pants and all rational thought leaves his head.

He runs his hand all over Derek’s body, all hard muscles and soft skin. It feels surreal; in normal life, Derek would be so out of his league, he probably wouldn’t even spare him a glance if they met on a street.

But it’s not like Stiles hasn’t fantasized about boys before. Sure, he pined after a girl in his class, she was gorgeous and it was kind of expected of him, but his porn history told a different story. Either way, even a kiss is the farthest he ever got with a girl or a boy.

Frustrated with Stiles’ state of overdress, Derek tugs at his clothes and Stiles hurries to worm out of them before he can rip them apart. Once they’re both naked, Derek flips him on his back and straddles him. Pinning Stiles’ hands above his head in one hand, Derek goes back to kissing him, hungry and claiming this time.

Sudden fear pierces through the haze of Stiles’ arousal. He’s never done this before but he knows enough from his online education that sex between men requires quite a lot of lube and preferably condoms. They don’t have either. Will Derek care or will he just take what he wants? There is absolutely no way he could physically stop Derek, whose hold on Stiles’ wrist might as well be an iron manacle.

Clearly sensing Stiles’ change of mood, Derek stops and look at Stiles searchingly.

“Should I stop?” he asks a little a breathless even though he doesn’t let go.

“No! Just—I don’t have any… supplies or anything,” he says, hoping Derek’ll catch the drift.

Derek nods and scoots down a bit to align with Stiles, taking both of their dicks in his hand.

“Just this,” he mutters, nuzzling and nibbling at his neck, while stroking them slowly. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles gasps, groaning with pleasure.

It’s been way too long since anyone, meaning Stiles, touched him like this and he bites his lips not to come at the spot. Derek takes his time, though, and it’s only when Stiles is squirming, huffing impatiently, that Derek mercifully picks up the pace and brings them both to finish soon after.

Afterward, he collapses next to Stiles, who’s panting, shaking with the aftershock of pleasure.

Derek dips his fingers in the cooling mix of their cum on Stiles’ stomach and leisurely spreads it all over his stomach and chest

“Uh, nasty,” Stiles complains and Derek grins. It is the first genuine smile he’s seen on him and Stiles’ heart melts at the sight of Derek’s bunny teeth and at the way his eyes crinkle. In the end he can’t help but mirror it with a smile of his own before drifting to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh. I don't know if it's the isolation or what but I've been feeling pretty shitty lately and struggled with this chapter a lot. Sorry it kinda sucks. Let's move on, though.   
> Btw, I've been trying to write some other sterek fics and original fics but I wanted to finish them before posting and I always got to a stage when I hated them so much I wanted to punch the screen and I just stopped writing them. I reached this point with this fic too now. But I know I will finish it because I could never leave you hanging:)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important information: I did some edits to previous chapters - I'm really sorry about that, you don't have to reread, all you need to know is that I changed the time line - it's been six months since Stiles ran away, he's been homeless for six months. It really bothered me that I said two years, it didn't fit into the story, so I changed it. Yes, this happens when you're not good at planning, sorry!

After that, Derek stays human and Stiles is grateful for that. Even if he keeps his conversation to a few words a day, it’s more social interaction than Stiles’ had in a long time.

They do some more work around the house, clear out some debris, fix a few holes. Of course, it’s Derek who does most of the heavy lifting and his strength definitely comes in handy, as he’s currently taking apart old furniture with bare hands, neatly stocking the planks outside of the house.

“What you’re gonna do with those?” Stiles asks curiously.

“Not sure, yet,” he replies, looking around what used to be the backyard, now covered with weed and overgrown grass.

Stiles lets it be, his mind focused on other things as he watches Derek work in nothing but jeans and a short-sleeved t-shirt, his muscles bulging as he rips the old bench apart.

“Do you wanna take a break?” he suggests, not even trying to be subtle, and Derek turns to him with raised eyebrows.

“Again?”

“Yeah?” Stiles grins. Ever since that night, it’s like a whole new world of pleasure has opened up to Stiles and now he can’t get enough. How the hell did he survive 17 years with nothing but his hand, he has no idea. And it’s not like they have that much else to do anyway. If it were up to Stiles, he’ll probably spend most of the time in their make-shift bed.

Derek throws the piece of furniture he’s working on to the ground and joins Stiles with an exasperated sigh that Stiles is totally not buying.

Later on, as they’re lying on the mattress, both spent and satisfied, Stiles struggles to remember why he ever wanted to leave this place.

Eventually they have to make another supply run to the town, though. There’s only so much food they can steal or hunt out here and Stiles takes out the twenty dollars tucked away in his backpack with a heavy heart.

It takes them a whole day to get as much as they can for the little money they have, often having to make several stops to find the best deal. They don’t talk more than they have to, the silence between them strained and heavy. Derek’s eyes keep darting around him whenever there are people nearby, his jaw clenched and posture tense.

At one point he gets completely overwhelmed in the middle of an overcrowded Walmart and completely freezes, plastered against one of the aisles, eyes wide.

“Derek?” Stiles says gently. “Why don’t you go wait outside, I’ll finish up and meet you there, okay?”

Derek doesn’t argue, just nods tersely and quickly makes his way out of the shop. Stiles hastily throws in all the things on his mental list and heads to the check out when he notice a small shelf with condoms and lubes. No matter how many times he runs the numbers in his head, he always arrives at the same conclusion. He totally cannot afford it. Looking around the empty aisle, he quickly slips a tiny bottle of lube to his pocket, his heart beating with adrenaline. The condoms are locked in a safety box and so he leaves them there.

No one stops him and he lets out a breath of relief when he makes it outside, the tiny bottle feeling like a stolen treasure in his pocket. Derek looks slightly better when Stiles finds him sitting under a tree in the parking lot, but it’s only when they’re back home that he truly relaxes, his shoulders sagging.

Stiles gets some water cooking, while Derek looks at the meagre pile of food they bought.

“It’s not much,” he remarks and Stiles just shrugs.

“It’s fine. You can always bring that deer you promised,” he winks at him.

“There’s not that much to hunt in the winter. I can go for a week without food if I have to but—” Derek says sourly and Stiles lets out an annoyed breath.

“It’s gonna be fine. We’ll get more money if we have to. You can go to a salvation army or something to get food, if it comes down to it.”

“Why didn’t you? Go to a shelter, I mean. Instead of, you know…,” he gestures helplessly around himself.

“I can’t. They’d know I’m underage and call the cops.”

There’s a beat of silence and Stiles feels his irritation grow. “What?” he barks.

“Nothing,” Derek mutters. “At least you’d be warm.”

“I said I’m fine. We’ll cuddle for warmth. Do you want me gone, or what?” Stiles snaps, feeling a bit guilty for the low blow.

“I don’t! I just—”

“Then it’s settled! I am _not_ going back there,” Stiles huffs, poking the fire angrily, for once hoping Derek will shut up.

“Did they beat you?”

“What?” Stiles looks up, surprised.

“Your fosters. That’s why you ran away?”

“They didn’t beat me,” Stiles admits and then smirks. “That would be too easy, wouldn’t it? I’d show the bruises to the case worker and they’d get me out of there, right? No, they were just… evil. Everything was a privilege in there. Food, sleep, bed, everything. One step over the line and I went to bed hungry. One snappy remark and I slept on the floor. Once I broke one of their cheap Ikea plates by accident and got locked in a tiny utility room with the lights off for hours.

I fucking hated them. Everything I owned, all my stuff I got to take from our old house before it was repossessed by the bank, they took from me. I was lucky I managed to save my dad’s badge and a few pictures of him.”

“You never told anyone?” Derek asks softly.

“I—no. It’s not like anyone would believe me. They were adored within their community. _Such amazing people for taking in orphaned children_ ,” he mimics, grimacing.

He feels Derek watch him and he bites angrily at his lip to stave off the tears. He hasn’t cried in a long time. Probably not since the night the officers came to his house with pitying faces. Everything since then feels like a blur and a constant fight for survival with no time to feel sorry for himself.

“What happened to your parents?” Derek asks and Stiles knows he should shout at him to fuck off and that it’s none of his business and how _dare_ he ask him that after turning into a wolf for three days after Stiles asked him a question like that. At the same time, there’s nothing he wants more than to unload some of his misery on him. He’s so tired of having to deal with it alone.

“My mom died when I was a kid. I don’t remember her much but it was so hard on my dad. He got his shit together though and we were doing fine! And then some fucking meth-head had to ruin it all. It was just a traffic stop! But the guy had a gun and—”

Stiles breaks off, unable to continue. Derek doesn’t say anything, just pulls him close into a hug and it’s his careful gentleness breaks him. Stiles buries his head in Derek’s shoulder and cries until there are no more tears, until he’s completely drained and his face feels tender and puffy.

He doesn’t protest when Derek takes him to their bed, falling asleep immediately, still desperately clutching at Derek.

When he wakes up some time later, Derek’s gone. For a moment of panic, Stiles fears he ran away again, but then he hears the clattering sounds from outside. He rubs his eyes, still sore from all the crying he did. He probably looks as shitty as he feels; eyes red, his overgrown hair oily, matted and sticking anywhere. Suddenly he’s grateful there aren’t any mirrors in the house.

Shaking the thoughts of his look out of his head, he follows the sounds, shivering in the chilly night, pulling Derek’s jacket closer to himself.

It takes him a moment for his eyes to adjust to the almost pitch-blackness outside the house and make out the silhouette of Derek, a plank of wood in his hand.

“How can you see what you’re doing?” Stiles asks. Derek doesn’t answer, just snaps a piece of wood in half with way more force than necessary and Stiles flinches.

“Right. Night vision, huh? What are you doing, anyway? It’s late.”

“I’m building a coop,” Derek grits through his clenched teeth, not looking up from his work.

“A coop?” Stiles repeats, bewildered

“Yes, a coop! For your chickens. You wanted eggs, I’m gonna get you eggs!”

“Derek,” Stiles laughs. “How—Where—Uh, never mind. Come back to bed, I’m sure I can go for a few more days without a fried egg for breakfast, c’mon.”

Derek goes, reluctantly, still looking over his shoulder even as Stiles takes his hand to lead him back inside. “We can get a goat in the spring,” he grumbles.

“Alright,” Stiles chuckles.

Once back in bed, Derek snuggles closer and buries his nose in Stiles’ neck, inhaling deeply.

“You smell like…”

“Like sweat?” Stiles offers with a self-depreciating smile when Derek doesn’t finish. “Unwashed clothes?”

“No, like…” Derek struggles for words and Stiles doesn’t press him. He’s drifting back to sleep by the time Derek speaks again. “Like the forest after rain. Like my mother’s pie. Like home.”

Stiles thought he had no more tears to cry and yet they start prickling in his eyes again. He wipes at them and laughs wetly.

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever told me. Hands down.”

Even in the darkness Stiles can see Derek blush before he cuddles even closer, hiding his face in Stiles’ neck, muttering. “Shuddup. Go back to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a shorter chapter but I didn't want to drag it out, I felt this was a good place to end it. I can't wait to get to the next part and finish this story! It's just frustrating how slow I'm writing!:)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love the tag "awkward first time" :)

It takes Derek three days to build the chicken coop. Stiles watches him work with mild amusement but doesn’t comment. He knows it’s just something to occupy himself with, Stiles doesn’t really believe they’re actually going to get chickens, not anytime soon, anyway, but what’s the harm in it.

Derek then spends another week trying to find the best way to properly insulate it.

“I don’t want the chickens to freeze off,” he grumbles as he lines the inside with bark and old damaged remains of a carpet.

“Don’t worry, they’ll be nice and warm. Warmer than me, probably.”

Derek stops and looks at him and there’s this fear and worry again that Stiles immediately regrets making the joke.

“I’m kidding. I’m fine,” he forces a smile and jams his hands in the pockets of Derek’s jacket. Truth be told, though, he’s cold pretty much all the time. It’s only mid-November but the grass is already covered by morning frost most of the days, and even though it gets warmer during the day, it feels like the cold has seeped down Stiles’ bones and never quite goes away. It doesn’t help that Stiles is skin and bones with absolutely no fat to keep him warm.

“Maybe we can light a fire in the fireplace though?” Stiles tries carefully. He hasn’t brought it up with Derek yet because he has a feeling he won’t like the idea and as expected, Derek’s face turns hard at the question.

“No,” he says, his eyes flicking to the house. “That’s—I mean, the chimney is pretty damaged. That would probably be a fire hazard.”

Stiles sighs and he hugs his knees closer. He does miss the warmth of the library and the mall but at the same, he doesn’t regret a thing. Once these close in the evening, Stiles would be left to freeze on the streets. How the hell is he going to survive the cold winter was biggest fear when he ran away from his fosters. Here, with a roof above his head and Derek for company, he knows he’ll be fine.

“Okay,” Stiles agrees and then grins. “I guess you’ll need to find another way to keep me warm, then” he winks and Derek rolls his eyes at Stiles’ terrible seduction line.

All the same, he stops what he’s doing and goes to Stiles with a sort of hungry look in his face that makes Stiles shudder with delicious anticipation. Grabbing his hand, Derek leads him to their bedroom where he all but throws Stiles on the mattress.

The worst part is taking off his clothes in the chilly air. Once they’re both naked, though, and under the covers, Stiles sighs as presses himself against Derek’s body, wanting to wrap himself in the beautiful warmth.

They stay like that for a long time until Stiles stops shivering and his ice-cold fingers turn warm and tingly. They kiss lazily for a while but when Derek starts to move down, trailing light kisses along Stiles’ chest as he goes, Stiles gathers his courage and stops him with a hand in hair.

“Wait, wait! I, uh. Have something.”

His heart beats in his throat as he searches for his pants. He’s been carrying the little bottle of lube in his pocket for days but every time he wanted to mentioned it, he always chickened out. As much as he loves all the blow jobs and hand jobs, he wants more. Why the hell is he so nervous then?

He hands the lube to Derek, who turns it in his hand hesitantly. “Oh,” he says and looks at Stiles questioningly.

“Would—Will you? Fuck me?” he asks lamely, his cheeks turning bright red.

“I—” he says uncertainly, sitting back on his heels, fiddling with the bottle.

“Have you ever done it before?”

“No. Not with a man.”

“Well I’ve never done it either. With anyone,” Stiles admits.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Derek asks and Stiles doesn’t have to think about his answer.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” he nods, even as his heart is still trying to beat its way out of his chest.

“Okay,” Derek smiles and his face softens. He leans back for another kiss and Stiles tenses despite himself when Derek runs his hand up and down his thigh. Nothing happens though; Derek’s hand does not stray, and slowly, Stiles starts to relax into the touch.

He has no idea how long they just kiss but when Stiles finally hears the click of the lube bottle, his nerves have settled almost completely. His heart rate does spike a little at squelching sound of lube, though.

The next moment Stiles feels the blunt tip of Derek’s cock pressing against his hole.

“Whoa, wait,” Stiles scoots back in panic. “I think I’m gonna need a bit more preparation than that.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek mumbles, flustered. “I never—I don’t know—”

“It’s okay,” Stiles assures him, biting his lip not to smile, because it is kind of funny how clueless Derek looks. Stiles might be a virgin, but he has done his research.

“Here,” Stiles takes the lube and coats his finger generously. He then carefully wriggles the digit inside him, cringing at the unfamiliar intrusion. The angle is all wrong and this is nowhere as sexy as he imagined.

Luckily, Derek seems to take the hint and presses Stiles to lie back down. Settling comfortably between his thighs, he squirts some lube directly onto Stiles’ hole and Stiles hisses and the cold sensation.

His eyes blown wide, Derek watches in fascination as his finger disappears into Stiles’ body and Stiles lets out a little groan. This is _so much_ better than his own finger.

Derek only gets to two fingers before Stiles is wriggling impatiently under him. “Derek, please,” he huffs, unable to take Derek’s infuriatingly slow and gentle probing. Finally, adding more lube, Derek lines himself up and pushes in.

Stiles gasps, all breath leaving his body. Immediately he regrets not being more patient and thorough with the preparation as he feels as if he’s been split in two. He fists his hands into the sheets, desperately willing his clenched muscles to relax.

“Breathe,” Derek instructs and Stiles forces a shaky breath in through his nose, not even realizing his lung were starting to burn from the lack of oxygen. After a few breaths, his mind clears a little, the feeling of _too­-much_ fading to a bearable burn.

Above him, Derek makes no move to start thrusting, waiting for Stiles’ ragged breathing to calm down. In the meantime he strokes Stiles’ flagging erection, bringing him back to hardness.

The distraction helps and soon Stiles feels some of the tension leave him and the pain eb away. He’s still feeling pretty overwhelmed when Derek finally starts to thrust in and he throws an arm over his face, biting into the flesh of his forearm.

Derek keeps stroking and it doesn’t take long for his orgasm to hit him in full force, so intense it’s almost painful. In a couple more thrusts, Derek finishes too with a grunt, but Stiles barely notices, still trying to catch his breath, as pleasure keeps rolling over him.

“Oh wow,” Stiles manages once they’re lying side to side again and Derek blinks at him lazily.

“Yeah,” he agrees with a half-smile and Stiles snuggles closer before falling asleep, not bothering to wash up.

The pleasant afterglow is gone when he wakes up, leaving him feeling gritty and disgusting and aching in places he didn’t know he can ache. There is absolutely no way he’s making a trip to the truck stop showers and so he scrubs himself with water from the stream warmed over the fire.

It's not much but it does make him feel more human again, to be clean. That evening when he curls against Derek’s warm body, he can’t help but sigh contently. He has food, he has water, he has a soft mattress to sleep on and he has Derek. He’ll survive the winter all right.

They settle into a comfortable routine that consists of getting food, building a fence around the newly finished coop and having a shitload of sex. Stiles has long lost the track of days and is surprised when one day, Derek notes dryly while skinning a rabbit:

“It’s full moon tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Stiles looks up at Derek. He continues his task with steady hands but the tension between his shoulder blades does not escape Stiles’ attention.

“You’ll leave tomorrow afternoon, I’ll walk you to town. We can meet again the next morning under the underpass.”

“Do I have to?” Stiles asks, trying not to sound too whiney.

“Yes!” Derek snaps, looking at Stiles with a mix of rage and fear. “You agreed!”

“I know, I know! Just—Was it because I ran? That you attacked me? Because I won’t do it again, I swear.”

Derek lets out a long breath, scrubbing his hand over his face in frustration. “No, it was because you’re human. And my wolf pretty much hates all humans. I don’t wanna hurt you, if I… lose control.”

 _But didn’t hurt me, you stopped,_ is what Stiles wants to say but what come out of his mouth is: “Why do you hate humans so much?”

Derek scoffs and gives Stiles a long, scrutinizing look. “You really wanna know, huh,” he says flatly and when Stiles doesn’t answer, he shrugs. “Fine. I might as well tell you.”

Stiles scoots closer, anticipation thrumming under his skin and when Derek starts to speak, he sounds chillingly matter-of-factly, his voice emotionless and detached, as if he wasn’t speaking about a tragedy that took his whole family.

“The fire wasn’t an accident. It was my fault. I didn’t set it on fire but I might as well have. I was sixteen when I met her. She came onto me and I fell for it. We had a brief romance but she was using me to find out where we lived. She must have known what were. And I lead her to us. Because I was stupid.

That night I was supposed to be home but I snuck out to surprise her. I was way too far when I smelled the smoke. I came back but it was too late. They were all dead. She trapped everyone inside and set the house on fire. She never knew I wasn’t in there too.

There. That’s it. I’ve been living in the woods ever since. Have I satisfied your curiosity?” he asks bitterly and Stiles thinks he might be sick.

“What—What happened to her? Who is she?” he asks finally.

“Her name was Kate Argent. I don’t know where she’s now,” he shrugs again. “By the time the fire brigade finally made it up here, the fire was over. There wasn’t—” he falters for the first time, “there wasn’t that much left of the bodies.”

“But—didn’t they know it was an arson?”

“There wasn’t much of an investigation. They came the next morning. Took some samples, took a few pictures and left. It was all swept under the carpet. She made sure of it.”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“I heard one of them speak to Kate on the phone. Assuring her he’ll take care of it.”

Stiles’ numb shock is replaced by a hot rage. “The cops were in on it? Who? What was his name?” Four years ago, Stiles does the math in his head and his anger only increases when he realizes that his dad was the sheriff at that time. And he didn’t know.

“Jackson? Johnson? I don’t know, what does it matter.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Have you not been listening?” Derek raises his voice. “No one would have believed me!”

“So what, are you just going to hide here forever while she’s out there living her life? Are you going to let her just get away with it?” he yells back, his anger taking the best of him, even though in the back of his mind he realizes how shitty that is.

“So what if I do? I’m sure your fosters are now abusing some new poor kid, what’s your point exactly?”

Stiles deflates all at ones, all fight and anger leaving him, replaced by the cold and sticky feeling of shame.

“Stiles,” Derek backtracks miserably. “I didn’t—”

“No, you’re right,” Stiles stops him, his voice sounding hollow even to his own ears. Derek’s _right_. He ran away like a coward. If another kid gets hurt, that’s on him. Stiles imagines some other poor boy, terrified, locked in the tiny dark closet, and his knees buckle under him, the whole world spinning.

How dare he get mad at Derek. He is just as much hiding from his problems as he is.

“Stiles,” Derek tries again, hovering uncertainly.

“Just leave me be,” Stiles snaps, unable to look Derek in the face. From the corner of his eyes, he still sees Derek hesitate a bit more and then slowly retreat. At the sound of Derek’s clothes hitting the ground, Stiles look up just in time to see the black wolf run off.

Great, Stiles thinks bitterly, that’s just great. And they were doing so well, too, with Derek staying human, but Stiles just couldn’t leave it be, could he? And now he finally knows what happened and he wishes he didn’t. He wishes he could go back to being satisfied with living in their little bubble in the middle of the woods and forget the outside world exists but it’s too fucking late for that now.

He’s so mad and confused and agitated he spends hours pacing the house, not even attempting to grab some sleep. This is also why he immediately hears when Derek slips back in in what must be the middle of the night.

Stiles tenses but when he hears the sound of Derek’s feet instead of tell-tale scratching of claws, he lets out a breath.

“Stiles, I’m sorry—” Derek starts as soon as he comes in but Stiles doesn’t let him finish, diving in for a hug.

“No, you don’t need to apologize,” Stiles shakes his head and looks up at Derek pleadingly. “But, you have to tell somebody!”

At that, Derek’s face turns hard again. “I can’t.”

“Derek, please, I know someone who could—”

“I said no! I told you she has fingers everywhere. Noone would believe me and then she’ll just frame or have me killed if she knows I’m alive.”

“But—”

“Stiles, stop! Just—no. Please. Just let it go. You can’t fix everything.”

 _Fucking watch me_ , Stiles wants to yell, but bites his tongue hard instead.

“Let’s get some sleep, huh,” Derek suggests and Stiles takes it for the truce it is. He follows Derek to bed but as exhausted as he is, Stiles is up long after Derek’s breathing has evened out, watching the ceiling and thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this took me FOREVER but look, it's longer than my usual chapters. Phew. Feels good to have this chapter over with. As always, thank you for all your love and support, you are the best, I appreciate every single one of you:)


	9. Chapter 9

In the morning, Stiles untangles himself from the covers with a heavy heart and what feels like stone sitting in his stomach. The memories of yesterday’s conversation are still bitter in the back of his mouth.

Derek’s nowhere to be seen but Stiles’ not too worried. He’ll come back to him. He always came back.

In the meantime, Stiles wanders around the house, looking at it with new eyes. How much must the ruins remain Derek of what he’s lost? There are frames scattered around that probably used to hold family pictures but are empty now, the photos long turned into ashes. Every piece of half-scorched furniture, every empty picture hook in the still standing walls scream of the life that used fill this house and is now gone.

It's kind of morbid, when Stiles thinks about it, what a cozy little space they managed to build for themselves in a place like that. What used to be this room? Maybe Derek’s parents’ bedroom? And now it feels like the only slice of the whole wide world he calls his. _Theirs,_ more accurately. Their bed. Their blankets. Their chicken coop.

And he’s gotta leave it all.

He does need to leave, there’s no doubt about it in Stiles’ head. There is no life for them like this. He was stupid when he pretended otherwise but he sees now that he’s gotta fix what Derek can’t. And if that means going back… well, that’s a small price to pay.

Just as Stiles expected, Derek’s back before the sun manages to warm the frigid autumn air. Stiles hears him coming, the rustling of dead leaves giving him away. There are some other sounds, too, and Stiles freezes, straining his ears.

“Oh no,” he mutters to himself as he sees Derek emerge from the tree line. In his hands he’s carrying two plump chickens, clucking contently.

“Derek,” Stiles groans. “Where did you get them?”

“I stole them,” Derek shrugs apologetically. “But look, they had a lot of them, they won’t miss two chickens! I didn’t want to get just one, it would be lonely, wouldn’t it?”

Stiles doesn’t reply. There’s a lump in his throat and he’s afraid if he starts to argue with him, he’ll start crying. Instead he takes one of the chickens from Derek and they head to their little enclosure. The bird feels surprisingly soft in his hands and looks at him completely unperturbed, clearly used to humans. Stiles strokes its brown feathers mournfully, the feeling of loss only multiplying in his chest.

He knows all too well what Derek’s doing—trying to build something permanent, _a home_ , for Stiles. Give him something to come back to.

They put the chickens in the enclosure, watching them quietly for a long time as they walk around curiously and dig in the ground.

“Stiles—” Derek starts finally but Stiles just shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” he says softly and hopes Derek can hear he’s being honest. “I’m not mad at you or anything.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’m still sorry about what I said. That was a low blow. But you understand why—Why I can’t just tell anyone?”

“Yeah, no, I understand.”

Derek studies him for a while and then offers a small smile. “Let’s get sometime to eat, huh?”

In the afternoon, Stiles packs his backpack and they head to town, walking slowly and joylessly in a silence that seems to grow heavier the closer they get. Finally, they reach the outskirts and Derek lingers for a while, stepping hesitantly from foot to foot, casting Stiles insecure looks.

“C’mere,” Stiles huffs and dives in for a hug. He savors the feeling of Derek’s larger body in his arms, they way his chin rests on Stiles’ shoulder and he tries not to think about what comes next.

“Be safe, okay?” Derek mutters against his ear.

“I will.”

“And I’ll meet you at underpass, okay?”

Stiles just nods, unable to force the words out. Reluctantly, he pulls away, summoning a reassuring smile.

Then Derek’s gone and Stiles has nothing to do than walk around the town, not daring to linger anywhere for too long. He does stop at his favorite McDonalds and manages to snatch a few unfinished burgers because who knows when his next meal is coming.

Darkness slowly falls on the town and Stiles realizes he’s stalling. _Fuck,_ but he doesn’t want to go back there. Then he thinks of Derek, spending the rest of his life among the rubbles of his home while nobody in the world even knows he exits, and his resolve hardens.

His hands are still shaking when he finally reaches for door handle of the police station. He tries to take a deep breath but it does nothing to calm his racing heart.

The woman behind the desk looks at him suspiciously when he enters and Stiles realizes with a sinking heart it’s not Dorris, who used to slip him cookies when he visited his dad as a kid.

“Can I help you?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

“Yeah—Can I. Speak to the sheriff please?” he asks, breathless.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but if you could tell him—”

“You need to have an appointment,” she says coldly. “The sheriff is very busy.”

“Please,” Stiles leans against the counter, “I just need—”

“You can call during business hours to make an appointment,” she interrupts him again. “Or if it’s urgent you can talk to one of the deputies.”

 _Like hell I will,_ Stiles thinks but he forces himself to take a step back, raising his hand placatingly. “Fine,” he says and turns away as if to leave, bolting in the last possible second to the corridor on the right. He remembers all too well where the sheriff’s office is. Unless they moved it, he thinks hysterically but doesn’t falter.

He doesn’t make it far before he’s slammed to the ground. _Again_. He manages to yell, “Parrish!” from the top of his lungs and then there someone kneeling on top of him and he can’t breathe.

“What the hell is going on here?” comes a familiar voice from somewhere above him and Stiles allows himself a breath of relief. “Let go of him!”

The pressure disappears and Stiles slowly sits up. The sheriff is standing just few feet away, looking at him with the same mix of worry and pity he wore that night and Stiles’ stomach turns.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out. “I just need—”

“My office, now.” Parrish interrupts him and then helps him up, keeping a steadying hand on his arm the whole time. Or maybe he just wants to make sure Stiles doesn’t bolt. The latter seems more likely considering he locks the door behind them as they enter his office.

“I’m not gonna run,” Stiles snorts. Parrish doesn’t answer just steers Stiles to the chair opposite his desk and pours him a glass of water.

Stiles drinks it slowly to give himself some time to calm down.

“Are you okay, Stiles?” Parrish asks when the silence drags and Stiles jumps, surprised.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“I was worried when I heard you ran away.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “But I really need you to do me a favor. It’s about the fire of the Hale house four years ago,” he barrels on before Parrish can interrupt him. “You need to reopen the case.”

“Stiles,” Parrish blinks surprised. This is clearly not what he expected to hear.

“Please,” Stiles continues breathlessly. “Please. You need to help me. It wasn’t an accident and I know who did it. You’re the only person I trust. Please. For me. For my dad.”

Parrish looks at him pensively and Stiles’ guts churn in fear. He really hopes he’s not wrong about this. He’s known Parrish for a long time. He was a good cop, his dad always said so too. He _can’t_ be wrong about him.

“Okay,” he says finally, leaning back. “Why don’t you start from the start?”

It doesn’t take all that long for Stiles to tell Parrish everything he know, only leaving out the details about werewolves and anything supernatural. Afterward he slumps in the chair, feeling completely emotionally drained.

There. He did it. Now an investigation will start. Cops will probably show up at Derek’s place even though Stiles is pretty sure Derek’ll hear them coming and run. And then he’ll probably realize what Stiles has done.

 _Derek’s going to hate him so much_ , Stiles realizes with a sinking stomach, his blood turning into ice. It’s okay, though. Even as his heart feels like being ripped apart, he knows that as long as that Kate person is put behind bars and Derek is able to come back from the dead and sort out his life, it will have been worth it.

“I promise I’ll do my best to do right by you,” Parrish interrupts Stiles from his thoughts. “Let’s keep this a secret for now. I’ll go through the archives myself, see if the evidence is still there. We don’t want anyone tampering with it.”

“Thank you,” Stiles manages a weak smile, some of the fear in his chest finally unwinding. He knew Parrish wouldn’t let him down.

“You know I’m going to have to call the CPS now, right?” he says mournfully and Stiles just nods dejectedly.

“Yeah. Before you do—There something else I wanted to tell you,” Stiles starts reluctantly, fidgeting with the strap of his backpack. “About—about the foster family I was staying with.”

It’s not like he really expects this to change anything but at least it’ll be on record. And he’s gonna find some way to prove what bastards they are. If he could only get his hands on a phone so that he could record them. Or something. He’ll figure it out. Either way, he’s not going to stay silent anymore.

Parrish listens to him, his expression darkening as Stiles describes the punishments that were meted out in there, the hunger, the sleeping on the floor, the constant berating.

“Alright,” he says when Stiles is done, his eyes on his filthy shoes, really not wanting to see the look on Parrish’s face right now. “I’ll look into that, too.”

Parrish gets him a sandwich and hot chocolate from the vending machine in the lobby and lets him sit in his office until a lady from the CPS arrives. She introduces herself as Mary or Marie, Stiles doesn’t really listen. He follows her to her car without protest. It doesn’t matter what happens to him. He’s done all he could.

She smiles at him kindly in the rear-view mirror and Stiles looks away, pressing against the door.

It’s late when they arrive and everyone in the children’s home is already asleep. Stiles is handed a set scratchy pajamas and is shown to the showers. He takes his time, for once not enjoying the hot water cascading down his back, unable to feel sorry for the lady he’s keeping awake waiting for him.

She doesn’t look too upset when he finally makes it out, the overly kind smile still on her face. Stiles gives her his dirty clothes and she bundles them in a bag. To be washed or thrown away, who knows.

When she reaches for Derek’s jacket, though, Stiles balks, taking a step back and cradling it to his chest. Luckily, she doesn’t insist because Stiles would sooner bite her hand than give the jacket up.

They walk silently past a row of beds with kids of different sizes snoring softly to an empty bed in the corner.

“Get some sleep,” she says quietly. “It will all seem better in the morning.”

Stiles very much doubts that but he curls on the bumpy mattress anyway, pressing his back against the wall. He hugs the jacket close, pressing his face into the leather, as if he could catch a waft of Derek’s scent from it, and then uselessly waits for the sleep to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In real life news, my younger daughter started kindergarten this week. I was really looking forward to it, to having some time off and she'll having some kids to play with, but so far it has been a disaster. She hates it and cries the entire time I'm out. First I left for five minutes, then ten and then fifteen and she doesn't seem to show any signs of getting better. I'm kinda heartbroken. My first daughter loved it there instantly, I guess I never realized just how different my younger one is. Now I feel awful. We'll see how it'll go.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer wait BUT I have finished the whole story, I just need to edit it so I'll be posting real soon again. Also, this an alternate universe, remember?

Stiles’ stomach sinks when he’s called into the office right after the meagre breakfast he shares with the other kids, some looking at him curiously, while others simply ignoring him.

It’s not Mary or whatever her name was from last night sitting behind the desk but an older woman, looking sternly at him over the rims of her glasses.

“Take a seat, Stiles,” she gestures towards the simple chair and Stiles perches himself on the edge of the seat. He feels like a kid being called to the principal’s office. Maybe it’s not that far from the truth.

“I have good news,” she says, the words a stern contrast with the serious, solemn look on her face. “You can pack your things. You’re leaving to your new foster home.”

“Oh,” he says, unable to hide his disappointment. “Wait,” he says as the words sink in. “I thought I was going back to—”

“No,” she shakes her head. “You will not be going back to your old family.”

“But—” Stiles’ head fills with questions. What does that mean? Has Parrish made sure of this? Or maybe they have just taken up some other kids already and have no more room for Stiles. The impatient look on the woman’s face makes it clear he won’t be getting any answers from her.

Great. At least there he already knew what to expect. Now he has no idea kind of new hell is awaiting him.

“But make no mistake,” she continues and Stiles shrinks under her stare. “This is your last chance. Be grateful one of our best foster parents ever so kindly agreed to take you in. So no more acting out or running. There will be no more foster homes for you if you can’t behave.”

“Yes, m’am,” Stiles mutters. He’s not planning on running, anyway. He promised himself he won’t let another kid suffer what he went through.

“Go on, then,” she waves her hand, dismissively, and Stiles is all too happy to get out of the office. The looks other kids give him as he gets dressed and packs his backpack makes his skin crawl and he can’t get out of there fast enough.

His hurried steps come a grinding halt when he sees a petite dark haired lady waiting for him.

“Hi,” she smiles at him friendly. “My name’s Melissa McCall.”

Stiles doesn’t answer, just stuffs his hands into pockets, ignoring her outstretched hand. Her smile doesn’t falter and Stiles rolls his eyes internally. Oh, she’ll drop the charade soon enough, he’s sure of it.

She takes him to an old beat up Honda, nothing like the fancy BMW of his previous foster parents. Not that _they_ ever took him for a ride in it.

Stiles barely pays any attention to the tour of the house. It’s a nice enough house he guesses. Large, yet cozy and well-lived in.

“This is your room,” she points to one of the doors when reach upstairs and Stiles finally perks up. “You’re next to Scott. Scott’s my son, you’ll meet him later, but feel free to knock on his door if you ever need anything—".

He all but slams the door in her face, wanting nothing more than to be alone. He collapses face first on the neatly made bed and tugs the pillow over his head. He hates this, all of this. He wonders what Derek’s doing right now. Is he still waiting in the underpass, panicking what happened to Stiles? Does he _know_? Is he trying to track down his scent?

The thought of Derek feels like a knife twisted in his guts. He wishes he could cry but the tears don’t come.

He has no idea how long he’s been lying there when he hears Melissa’s “Lunch’s ready!” from downstairs. For a moment he hesitates, his growling stomach battling against his unwillingness to leave the relative safety of this small room. In the end he decides to stay and sags back onto the bed. It’s fine. He can go without lunch. He can go much longer without food than this.

Not ten minutes later there’s a soft knock on the door. Stiles freezes as he watches the door in trepidation, expecting Melissa to barge in. Nothing happens, though, and Stiles frowns in confusion.

“Um, come in?” he finally thinks to say and only then does she quietly enter, balancing a plate with food in her hands. She places it on the table and Stiles’ mouth waters at the delicious smell of the casseroles.

“It’s okay if you’re not ready to come downstairs,” she says gently. “But you gotta eat something. Look at you, you’re skin and bones.”

Irritation flares in Stiles’ chest and he turns his face away from her not to let it show. It feels like a jab at Derek. It’s not his fault Stiles’ so fucking skinny. He was the only one who actually really tried to feed him properly.

She leaves without further comment and Stiles is thankful for that, not in a mood for some lecture. He sits up with a heavy sigh. As much as he’d like to wallow in his misery, he can’t really afford not to eat the food. It just feels so easy. Almost as if he didn’t deserve it.

The casserole tastes as delicious as it smells but Stiles can’t force more than half down because his stomach starts to hurt. He curls back on the bed and tries to sleep the rest of the day away, tossing pitifully, never quite being able to get some rest.

As soon as the first hints of morning light make it through the blinds, Stiles quietly slips out of his room and out of the front door that—surprisingly—is unlocked. Not allowing himself a glance back, he hurries through the quiet streets until he makes it downtown, where he can easily blend with other young people drunkenly leaving the bars.

He wanders aimlessly for hours until inevitably his steps take him to the underpass. There’s no one there. Of course there isn’t. Stiles even checks behind the concrete column, secretly hoping to maybe find a message or something.

All he finds are empty beer bottles and a used condom. Dejected, he sits on the ground, watching as dark clouds move across the sky. For a fleeting moment, he longs to go back to the house in the woods but stops himself. There’s nothing to go back to. Who knows if Derek’s even still there. And if he is, Stiles is only fifty percent sure he wouldn’t rip his throat out on the spot.

Stiles knows Derek must really hate him right now. He doesn’t blame him; he only hopes it will all have been worth it.

Eventually he has to leave the underpass as more people start to mill around and give him weird looks. He’s back to slowly wandering the streets until his feet hurt and his stomach starts to growl again. When cold sleet starts to fall a few hours later, his resolve breaks.

He makes it back to McCall’s house late in the afternoon, soaked through and exhausted. He hesitates with his finger hovering over the bell but then just presses it. What’s the point. There’s nowhere else for him to go. Might as well get this over with.

Melissa opens just a few seconds later. She sags when she sees him, a relieved smile spreading on her face.

“Stiles,” she breathes out, already tugging him out of his wet jacket. “I’m glad you made it before dinner. I’m making lasagna. Go take a hot shower, you must be freezing. Go,” she nudges him when he stares at her in disbelief. “I’ll find you something dry to wear.”

Not sure how to react to that, Stiles goes. The hot shower feels heavenly, chasing away the chill, leaving him pleasantly tingly and gooey. Dressed in what he assumes are Scott’s hand-me-downs, he shovels the food quickly, burning the roof of his mouth in the process. Melissa and Scott are talking about some plans for the weekend and Stiles is more than happy to pretend along that nothing happened.

Once he finishes his meal, he rinses the plate and loads it in the dishwasher. He’s halfway from the kitchen when he stops, hesitating.

“Um. Thank you,” he mumbles, not even sure if Melissa’s heard him before sprinting up the stairs and slamming the door to his room behind him.

He lies in his bed for days, staring at the ceiling or lost in a restless slumber. Melissa brings him his meals upstairs and as much as Stiles feels bad about it, he just can’t summon the energy to get up. Scott slips into his rooms most of the afternoons. He’s dark haired and probably the same age as Stiles and has absolutely no regard of Stiles’ privacy.

He makes himself at home in Stiles’ room, blabbering about school and some girl he has a crush on and most of the time, Stiles just tunes it out but one day, it all feels like too much. How can this idiot be worrying about some girl as if it is the most important thing in the world while there’s a psychotic murderer on the loose and Derek’s lost his entire family and now hates Stiles, who – without Derek—has absolutely _nothing_.

“Would you just shut up?” Stiles snaps angrily and Scott stops mid-sentence, looking like a kicked puppy. “Just— leave me be!” he spits, burying his head back under the pillow.

“Right,” Scott sighs and as soon as he leaves, Stiles wants to cry again. Why did he just do that? He didn’t mean to take his anger out on Scott. He’s such an insufferable ass. Why would anyone want to be friends with him?

It doesn’t take more than three minutes before Scott’s back, his laptop in his hand. He makes himself comfortable on the floor, leaning against Stiles’ bed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll shut up!” he promises lightheartedly as he hooks up a controller to his laptop and starts a game. For the next couple of hours, the only sound in the room is the clicking of the controller buttons. Stiles finds it weirdly soothing and falls deep asleep for what must be the first time since he got here.

It is almost a week before Parrish comes to see him. When Melissa knocks on his door one day, saying there’s someone to see Stiles, his stomach drops. He doesn’t even know what he expects when he cautiously makes his way to the living room, but his stomach still does a weird little disappointed flip when sees Parrish sitting on the sofa.

The short-lived disappointment is quickly replaced by trepidation.

“Do you—do you have any news?” he asks breathlessly, not bothering with a greeting.

“Hello, Stiles,” Parrish smiles patiently instead of answering. “How have you been?”

“Good,” Stiles mutters, shifting uncomfortably under Parrish’ stare. Suddenly he’s self-conscious of his rumpled clothes and greasy hair.

“Have you settled here alright?”

Stiles nods. He’s not going to say that all he’s done in the past week is mope in his room. To be fair, though, he feels like he deserves some time to mope.

Parrish sighs, clearly unconvinced. “I do have some good news,” he says finally and Stiles perks up.

“Yeah?”

“I spoke to three of the previous foster kids and they’re all willing to testify. They looked pretty happy, actually, that someone else broke the silence and are ready to back you up.”

“Really?” Stiles ask incredulously. “But that’s—that’s good.”

“Yeah. There’s going to be a trial. Can I count on you to testify?”

Stiles nods. Might as well finish what he started. And it’s not like he really has anything more to lose.

“What about—” Stiles fidgets. He desperately wants to ask about Derek but dreads any answers probably even more. “Argent?” he finishes.

“I’m trying to put together a case. The good thing is, she was either too confident she’ll get away with this or just too carless to really hide her tracks. Still, it’s been four years.”

“Have you talked to Derek?” Stiles finally finds the courage to ask.

“No. We went to the house but he wasn’t there.”

No, of course not, Stiles thinks. It’s not like Derek wouldn’t hear them coming for a mile or something.

“No matter, though. His testimony would help but hopefully, I’ll be able to put together enough evidence even without him.”

“Okay,” Stiles says dejectedly. He really hopes Derek hasn’t skipped town entirely. What if he never comes back? What if he never sees Kate brought to justice and just decides it’s better to live the rest of his life as a wolf?

Just the idea makes his breath catch in his chest and his heart pound painfully.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Parrish places a reassuring hand on his shoulder, bringing him back from the brink of a panic attack. “Everything’s going to fine, I promise,” he says again, looking at him intently. Stiles wants to scream at him how could he possibly promise such a thing, how can he know that, but he makes himself nod anyway.

And despite everything, he does feel a bit lighter once Parrish leaves. At least there won’t be any more kids left to suffer with _those_ assholes. Now that’s gotta count for something, right?

Automatically heads back to his room but then changes his mind and takes a shower instead. He doesn’t miss the smile Melissa gives him when emerges, with still wet hair and in clean Scott’s clothes.

“We have to get you some new clothes. Are you up for a trip to the mall tomorrow?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles. “I mean, you don’t have to. But if Scott wants these back I can wear some of his older discarded stuff, I don’t mind.”

“Absolutely not. Tomorrow after breakfast, okay? It’s gonna fun,” she smiles and Stiles nods reluctantly. He’s pretty sure it won’t be _fun_ but it’s obvious there’s no point in arguing with her.

Unsure what else to do, he plops down on the bed and goes back to studying the cracks in the ceiling.

Scotts slips into Stiles’ room some time later in the afternoon, but to his credit, he only gives Stiles a smile as a greeting and quietly sets up his computer and starts the game.

“You know you suck at this, right?” Stiles finally speaks up after watching him play for at least an hour.

“As if you could do any better,” Scott snorts.

It’s a bait, Stiles knows it is, but he still gets up from the bed with a huff.

“Gimme that. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Scotts hands him the controller with the brightest, self-satisfied smile, and Stiles can’t help but grin back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your kind support with my kindergarten problems. If anyone's wondering, on week two, it was like a switch has been flipped and she was totally fine! Not a single tear, she barely says bye to me before running to the class, teachers are very happy with her, she's happy, I'm happy, everyone's happy!


	11. Chapter 11

On the next day, Stiles finds out, to his unending surprise, that going to a mall with his new foster mom actually _is_ fun. During his time on the streets, Stiles has spent hours upon hours walking aimlessly around the mall when it was raining outside, never daring to stay in one place too long for fear of being noticed and he _hated_ it.

With Melissa, though, it’s different. He actually gets to go inside the shops and she buys him whatever he asks for and more. She even catches his longing look towards the bookstore and drags him inside despite his protests. When he can’t decide which out of three books to choose, she gets him all three of them.

She waves her hand at Stiles’ stuttered _thank you_ ’s as if it was nothing. As if it really were that easy.

As a last stop, she steers him towards a hairdresser’s and Stiles doesn’t argue. He does desperately need it.

With bags full of clothes and other stuff and their feet aching, they stop for a burger and milkshake at the food court. There’s a fleeting moment when he feels peaceful and almost happy. His guilt catches up with him soon enough though. He doesn’t deserve to be happy. Not when Derek’s… who know what Derek’s doing right now.

He still puts up a smile for Melissa even though he has a feeling she sees right through him.

When they pull up back in front of the house, his stomach clenches uneasily. He sort of doesn’t want to go inside. This is the first time he’s been outside the house in a week and only now does he realize how much he misses the fresh air and open sky above his head.

“Do you think I can stay outside for a bit?” he blurts out just as Melissa unlocks the door and holds it open for him.

“Of course you can, honey,” she smiles sadly. “Put something warmer on, though. It’s getting cold.”

He fights down the irrational anger that flares inside him. He doesn’t need a fricking _sweater._ He’s survived the cold nights in much less than Derek’s sturdy jacket that he still refuses to take off. On the other hand, he knows she’s just trying to be nice. To care for him. He’s not sure what to with that.

He reads his new book in the garden for a bit but soon gets bored with it. The new crisp white pages feel weird in his hands, nothing like the stained paperback he’s leafed through hundreds of times.

He looks around the garden; it’s small and unkept, nothing but brown grass and an old set of garden furniture with peeling paint. The fence is all covered by some sort of a climbing plant, now almost bare, the leaves rotting all over the ground. Mindlessly, he takes the rake prompted against one the walls and starts to rake the leaves to neat piles.

Not much later the garden door squeaks and Scott joins him, his own rake in hand.

“My mom kicked me out to help you,” he pouts and Stiles snorts.

“Sorry,” he shrugs.

“Nah. I guess this is still better than homework, huh?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Stiles mutters and he feels Scott stare at him from the corner of his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure I could help catch you up on what you missed. Except maybe like math. I hate math but I know this super smart girl…”

“Scott, stop.”

“Seriously. You could still graduate this year. Mom will talk to the school if you could go to my class.”

“I don’t want to go back to school,” Stiles snaps, raking the leaves so hard it leaves scratches in the dying grass.

“Yeah, no one really _wants_ to go school, but it’d be kinda waste, not to finish. _Do you want to flip burgers for the rest of your life?_ ” Scott mimics what Stiles can only assume is one of their teachers but Stiles can’t muster a smile.

He knows Scott’s right but everything’s just _too much_ and _too fast_. The idea of going back to school overwhelms him and he pinches the bridge of his nose, taking in a few shaky breaths that do nothing to stop the spinning of his head.

“You don’t have to decide now or anything. It’s just a thought. Do you wanna finish up here? I’ll do that part.”

They rake the rest of the garden in silence that gives Stiles too much time to think. He almost wishes Scott would go back to blabbering about his crush.

The time outside does seem to do Stiles good if only because he falls deep asleep almost immediately, without the usual hours of restless tossing. This is also why he’s completely groggy and disoriented when there’s some insistent sound coming from the window and it takes him a long time to realize it’s not part of his dream.

When he finally shakes the rest of the sleep off, he sits up, alarmed. The sound doesn’t stop and Stiles’ heart almost jumps out of his chest when he realizes there’s someone at the window.

Stifling his initial instinct to run, but he slowly inches towards to window to take a better look at the looming figure behind the glass.

“Oh my god,” he breathes and hurries the last few steps to open the window. He knocks down the lamp on the writing table in the process but barely flinches at the sound of it shattering on the floor.

Derek’s inside with one gracious silent jump and Stiles takes a startled step back when he reaches for him.

“I’m sorry,” he manages to get out before Derek crushes him in a hug.

“Do you have _any idea_ how hard it was to find you?” he talks over him, completely disregarding Stiles’ apology. “I think I’ve walked each street three times trying to catch a waft of your scent.”

He pulls away, still keeping his hands on Stiles’ shoulders, and looks at Stiles searchingly, tilting head his head. “You look good,” he says softly and Stiles blushes. He supposes he does look a bit different, with new clothes and a haircut and the three square meals a day that he’s been getting are showing, too.

“Derek, listen. I did something—”

There’s a faint sound from downstairs and Derek flinches. “Fuck. I gotta run. I just wanted to see you’re okay.”

“No, wait, wait!” he shout-whispers but Derek’s already out of the window and gone in the darkness of the night. The next moment there’s an urgent knock on the door.

“Stiles? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” Stiles calls, trying to settle his beating heart.

Melissa comes in, a worried look on her face. She looks around the room, taking in the broken lamp and the still-open window.

“Sorry, just a bad dream,” Stiles mutters and she rubs his back soothingly.

“Okay,” she sighs softly and closes the window, cutting off the cold night air breezing in. “Next time maybe tell your friend to use the door, huh?” she smiles and Stiles tries and fails miserably to school his face. “Really. I wouldn’t mind. Good night, Stiles.”

“G’night,” he mumbles even though he knows he won’t get much more rest that night.

The next two weeks Stiles spends in a near-constant state of anxiety. He wanders around the town, visiting the underpass a few times, even once again considers going up to the house, but he knows it’s useless. If Derek wants to avoid him, there’s absolutely nothing he can do, considering there’s not a chance he could sneak up to him.

And he is avoiding Stiles, clearly. He now knows where he is and yet doesn’t show up again, even though Stiles tries to sleep lightly, startling at every tiny sound. One night he could swear he hears something outside but when he looks there’s no one there.

Why is Stiles even surprised Derek doesn’t want to have anything to do with him? He knew he’d hate him for going to the police. As much as he tries to make himself believe that, he can’t get the way Derek hugged him and looked at him out of his head.

It sure as hell didn’t feel as if he hated him. But the other explanation for Derek’s absence is not any better and makes his heart ache just as much, if not more. He can deal with hate, anger, resentment – but if Derek’s simply not interested in seeing him now that he knows he’s in a safe place, Stiles feels it will shatter his heart to a million pieces.

Scott and Melissa do his best to distract him from his sour mood and dark thoughts. A few days after their trip to the mall, Melissa comes in, smiling excitedly as she gives a large box.

“What’s this?” Stiles asks suspiciously.

“Open it,” she nudges him and Stiles uncertainly peeks inside.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, quickly closing it again. “I—that’s. I don’t need a laptop.”

“Oh come on,” Melissa snorts. “What teenage boy does _not_ need a computer. It’s not new but Scott helped me pick it and it should do. You know, for homework and stuff,” she winks and Stiles clenches his jaw.

They haven’t talked about his decision to go back to school, not in that many words, anyway, but Stiles knows there won’t be any getting out of it. The last few days, Scott has been coming to his room, asking Stiles for help with homework and studying for tests and ending up explaining the stuff to Stiles and catching him up on the subject, probably thinking he’s not at all obvious. That dork.

“Thank you,” he says, swallowing against the tears that burn in his eyes, and quickly makes a retreat into his room to get his shit together. Having his own computer connected to the internet to use and browse as he wants, it’s another step to going back the life he had before that night that took everything from him and Stiles feels like he’s not ready for that at all.

But ready or not, life goes on. Some days are better, when he doesn’t feel like he’s just a shadow of himself pretending to be Stiles and faking smiles for Melissa and Scott. Some days are worse when all he can think about is Derek and the fact that he’s not _here_ , that he won’t be able to cuddle against him in the night and he just wants to scream.

And then one morning, just when Stiles is helping Melissa with breakfast, her phone rings. Stiles thinks nothing of it, until she hands it to him, mouthing _it’s Parrish._

Stiles wipes his hands on his jeans, ignoring the disapproving look Melissa gives him, and takes the phone.

“Yes?”

“Hey Stiles. How are you?”

“Good, I’m good,” Stiles answers, rolling his eyes. He wishes Parrish would stop with those questions but then again, he can imagine him feeling guilty over not checking up on Stiles before. Stiles doesn’t blame him though. He’s not his responsibility.

“Great. Look, just a heads up. We made the arrest today. It’ll probably be on the news soon.”

All air leaves Stiles’ lungs and the world spins dangerously.

“Stiles? Are you still there?”

“I. Uh, yeah. That’s great. That’s awesome.”

“You don’t happen to be in touch in Derek Hale, do you?”

“No,” Stiles answers, his stomach clenching painfully. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Right. Okay. But if you do see him, tell him stop by the station, will you?”

“I will,” Stiles promises.

“Great. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says hollowly and gives the phone back to Melissa. He takes a deep breath and waits for the relief and satisfaction to come. When they don’t, he goes back to making breakfast in slow, automated motions.

That night, there’s a knock on the window so soft Stiles probably wouldn’t have heard it if he still weren’t staring into the darkness, trying to fall asleep. He’s up and at the window in a heartbeat, this time taking care not to knock over anything.

It’s raining outside and Derek’s drenched, looking tired and miserable when he finally climbs over.

“Derek?” Stiles falters; Derek’s taut and tense, there’s something brittle about him. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer, staying unnaturally still and Stiles sighs. “Come here,” Stiles tugs him out of his wet clothes and to his relief, Derek lets him. Once the dripping t-shirt and jeans are puddled on the floor, they both slip under the cover of Stiles’ bed.

Stiles pulls him close and Derek buries his nose in Stiles’ neck, shuddering.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps and Stiles’ eyes fly open in surprise.

“Why?” Stiles asks, bewildered.

“I tried to stay away. I did.”

“Derek, no. Why would you—”

“Because you don’t need me anymore.”

“But I do,” Stiles whispers fervently but Derek just shakes his head.

“I’ve been listening and checking up on you for days. They’re a good family.”

“Yes, they are. But that doesn’t mean—”

“They’re gonna tear the house down,” he changes the subject abruptly and Stiles blinks.

“ _What?_ ”

“The cops came again today together with some other guys. Said it’s too damaged and unsafe. I don’t know what to do,” he whispers and Stiles is not sure if he’s even meant to heard that. “I have nowhere else to go. I don’t wanna… lose myself again.”

“Derek I’m so sorry,” Stiles says. He wishes Derek would look at him. “I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I only wanted—I _needed_ to at least try to fix this. For both of us. I couldn’t just hide out there and do nothing. Do you—Do you hate me?”

Finally, Derek’s eyes meet Stiles’ in the darkness. A sad smile tugs at his lips. “I course I don’t hate you. Sometimes I wish I could. It’d make my life easier. You deserve all the good things. Not _me._ ”

“You _are_ the good thing,” Stiles huffs and leans in for a kiss, hoping Derek will feel how much Stiles wants him. How much he _means_ it. After a beat of stubborn hesitation, Derek melts into the touch and kisses back with desperation.

“Wait,” Stiles pulls back before their kiss gets _too_ heated. “They arrested Kate, have you heard?”

At that, Derek’s eyes go wide. “They did?” he asks, barely a whisper, but so much raw hope it kills Stiles.

Derek sags back on bed, not saying anything for a long time. Stiles waits patiently, drawing slow circles on Derek’s back.

“Thank you,” he says at last, pressing a soft kiss on Stiles’ forehead. When he makes a move to get up, Stiles grabs at him.

“Please don’t leave me,” Stiles implores. “Just—stay.”

Derek snorts. “Yeah. As if I could. I’m sure your foster mother will be delighted to have some weird stranger in her house.”

For a moment he wants to argue that Melissa wouldn’t mind but then hesitates. Derek’s not a poor orphaned son of a beloved sheriff but a broody looking, very much adult man. And he doesn’t know her _that well_. Does he dare to risk it?

“Sleep here with me. You can leave before everyone wakes up. You can come here every night. I’ll be waiting for you. We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

Stiles feels Derek smile against his skin but he doesn’t answer. It’s good enough for Stiles though. Oh, how he missed this. Snuggled close, his arms wrapped tightly about Derek’s familiar body, Stiles feels like he can finally breathe easily, like some of the weight that has been sitting on his chest so long he forgot it was there is lifted. 

For the first time he falls asleep thinking maybe their future might not be so bad after all.


	12. Epilogue

“35!” comes the distorted voice from a speaker and Stiles looks down at the little piece of paper Derek’s is fiddling with nervously.

“We’re next,” he smiles and Derek nods tersely.

“It’s just a driver’s license,” he grunts. “Why does this feel like such a big deal?”

“I guess it is, sort of. It’s the first step.”

First step in getting Derek’s life back on track. It took good two weeks of Derek’s nightly sleepovers and Stiles sneaking out food to bring him to the underpass before he finally got him to go to the police and proclaim himself very much alive. And it was probably mostly because one morning they overslept and Melissa caught them curled up on Stiles’ bed.

She cursed and then Stiles got a stern talking off and _what did she say about using the front door_ , she huffed while she laid out four plates and fed bewildered Derek a generous serving of scrambled eggs.

The whole situation was a mess and it took long hours in the interrogation room with Parrish and signing a lot of papers before they could even apply for Derek’s license. Stiles was there with him at every step of the way, if only because Derek look completely overwhelmed and ready to bolt at every new form that he was asked to fill.

Getting an ID for Derek definitely will definitely help with the whole process of him testifying against Kate and claiming the life insurance money his parents left him.

“You look good,” Stiles assures him when Derek starts to once again tug at his newly cut hair. He does look like a new person—neatly trimmed beard, cut hair, dressed in a new maroon Henley that Stiles helped him pick.

“36!” the voice calls and they jump from their seats, heading to the little booth. Stiles fails to hide a smile at the way Derek glares into the camera but everything goes smoothly, they pay the fee and are told to pick up the driver’s license in three days.

The freezing air slaps Stiles in the face as they leave the building and he pulls his woolen coat closer. It started snowing again when they were inside and Stiles presses closer to Derek for warmth.

“Oh, I know just the right place to celebrate,” Stiles smiles. Derek rolls his eyes but lets himself be dragged to a nearby café. Stiles orders them both a cup of hot chocolate with an extra serving of marshmallows and they squeeze themselves at the tiny table in the corner, Derek’s back to the wall. His eyes still flick around nervously but luckily the café is almost empty at this hour.

“This is nice,” Stiles sips the chocolate, warming his fingers against the cup. “Hey,” he suddenly remembers. "What happen to the poor chickens?”

“I took them back. It was a stupid idea, anyway,” he mutters, swirling the marshmallows around.

“No, it wasn’t! I want my chickens!”

“We’ll buy new ones. No stealing this time. The construction can start once the money comes through. In Spring, probably, when the weather gets better. All the rubble will be cleared out by then.”

“Sounds good.”

Stiles reaches across the table and takes Derek’s hand in his, running his thumb over his knuckles. He loves the way Derek’s face lightens up when he talks about rebuilding the house. Stiles knows he can’t wait to go back there. As awesome as Melissa has been allowing Derek to stay, Stiles knows Derek feels a bit… smothered by her.

Stiles smiles to himself. When Melissa realized that the dirty hobo she found in Stiles’ bed was indeed the sole survivor of the Hale House fire, her face crumpled with sadness and pity.

“Oh, you poor little thing,” she said and would have probably crushed Derek in a hug if he hadn’t taken several step backs, glaring. It’s just the kind of person she was, she couldn’t help unleashing her motherly love on anyone who needs it.

But Derek belongs to the woods, where he can let his wolf run free. And Stiles can’t wait to help him build a new home there even though they agreed he’s not going to move in with him. Not yet, anyway.

And Melissa promised him a new car if he graduates this year and Stiles has been eyeing this jeep for a while. It will definitely make it easier for him if he doesn’t have to make the trek by foot to visit Derek everyday.

Even when their cups are empty, they stay for a long time, watching the snow flurry in gusts of wind behind the window. There’s a crease on Derek’s forehead and Stiles know he’s still worrying about the upcoming trial. Stiles worries, too, even though Parrish tells them the evidence will be enough. And for now, at least Kate can’t get out on a bail. She’d probably try to finish her job and knowing she’s locked up safely allows Stiles to sleep at night.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Stiles assures Derek, who snaps from his thoughts.

“I know,” he smiles and leans over the table for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who made it this far! I have no idea how this story even happened, it got completely out of my hands. But it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. It’s still a story right? Right?  
> I only started it to get myself writing again after being stuck on like 5 stories and I think I have succeeded in that, considering I wrote 23k in just over a month.  
> If you enjoyed the story, please let me know. If not, well, I’m sorry. Please don’t yell at me for ending it too soon. I know it’s not perfect. But this is all I got.  
> Thank you for all your lovely comments, I so enjoy hearing from you. I hope to see you at my next work, whatever that will be! Take care everyone and stay safe! :-*

**Author's Note:**

> If you ever want to reach me directly or just come and say hi, I have a discord: https://discord.gg/zTf4Yjw


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